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of  the 


GONNOM 


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^yi-^^-,^  4.  Q.>=^<^ 


BLACK  ROCK 


'BY  THE  5/4 ME  o^UTHOR 

THE  SKY  PILOT 

A  Talc  of  the  Footliills 


A^ 


EW    EDITION,    ILLUSTRATED 
By  LOUIS  I^HEAD,  i amo,  cloth,  $i. is 


'Better  than  "  Black  Rock  " 

RALPH  CONNOR'S  "Black  Rock"  was  good,  but 
"  The  Sky  Pilot "  is  better.  The  matter  which  he 
gives  us  is  real  life ;  virile,  true,  tender,  humorous, 
pathetic,  spiritual,  wholesome.  His  Bret  Harte  manner  in 
describing  this  life  has  at  times  a  distinct  and  refreshing 
quality  of  literary  workmanship ;  his  style,  fresh,  crisp 
and  terse,  accords  with  the  Western  life,  which  he  well 
understands.  Henceforth  the  foothills  of  the  Canadian 
Rockies  will  probably  be  associated  in  many  a  oiind  with 
the  name  of''  Ralph  Connor."— Tie  Outlook. 

He  is  a  "  Sky  Tilot "  himself 

FULL  to  overflowing  of  humor  and  pathos.  .  .  .  The 
"Sky  Pilot"  deals  with  the  same  class  of  people  as 
"Black  Rock."  I  have  made  enquiries  at>out  Ralph 
Connor,  and  find  that  he  is  a  Sky  Pilot  himself.  He  lives 
In  the  country  and  among  the  people  described  in  his 
books,  and  the  stories  he  tells  are  no  doubt  true  to  life. 
.  .  .  His  touch  is  true,  but  it  is  also  fine.^-Af»M  Jeaiutte 
Gilder,  tn  Harper's  Bazaar.  * 

It  touches  the  chords  which  vibrate 

RALPH  CONNOR  uses  a  pen  dipped  in  the  very  colors 
and  tones  of  the  canon  and  the  sunlit  hills;  his  grasp 
of  the  characteristic  slang  is  free  and  graphic,  and  his 
knowledge  of  the  primitive  vices  and  virtues  is  obviously 
no  mere  book-lore.  The  way  the  "Swan  Creek  Church" 
got  opened  while  the  little  "Sky  Pilot"  lay  a-dyingwill 
moisten  the  eyes  of  the  sentimentally  inclinea.  The  "  Last 
of  the  Permit  Sundays"  is  the  result  of  ah  incident  of  high 
wrought  pathos.  Such  a  tale  is  sure  to  find  numerous 
readers,  for  it  touches  just  those  chords  which  vibrate 
luxuriously  in  the  popular  heart. — 'Boston  Transcript. 

FLEMISG  H.  REVELL  COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 


B 


LACK  ROCK:   a  tale 
of  the  Selkirks   .  .   by 
Ralph  Connor 


With  an  Introduction 
by  Professor  George 
Adam   Smith,    LL.D. 


New  York :  Chicago :  Toronto 
Fleming  H.  Revell  Company 
1901 


Copyright  1900 

by 

FLEMING  H.  REVELL  COMPANY 


sRu,^^o,<,u 


INTRODUCTION 

I  THINK  I  have  met  "  Ralph  Connor."  Indeed,  I 
am  sure  I  have — once  in  a  canoe  on  the  Red  River^ 
once  on  the  Assinaboine,  and  twice  or  thrice  on  the 
prairies  to  the  West.  That  was  not  the  name  he 
gave  me,  but,  if  I  am  right,  it  covers  one  of  the 
most  honest  and  genial  of  the  strong  characters 
that  are  fighting  the  devil  and  doing  good  work  for 
men  all  over  the  world.  He  has  seen  with  his  own 
lyes  the  life  which  he  describes  in  this  book,  and 
las  himself,  for  some  years  of  hard  and  lonely  toil, 
assisted  in  the  good  influences  which  he  traces 
among  its  wild  and  often  hopeless  conditions.  He 
writes  with  the  freshness  and  accuracy  of  an  eye- 
witness, with  the  style  (as  1  think  his  readers  will 
allow)  of  a  real  artist,  and  with  the  tenderness  and 
hopefulness  of  a  man  not  only  of  faith  but  of  ex- 
perience, who  has  seen  in  fulfillment  the  ideals  for 
which  he  lives. 

The  life  to  which  he  takes  us,  thougn  far  off  and 
very  strange  to  our  tame  minds,  is  the  life  of  our 
brothers.     Into  the  Northwest  of  Canada  the  young 


Introduction 

men  of  Great  Britain  and  Ireland  have  been  pouring 
(I  was  told),  sometimes  at  the  rate  of  48,000  a  year. 
Our  brothers  who  left  home  yesterday — our  hearts 
cannot  but  follow  them.  With  these  pages  Ralph 
Connor  enables  our  eyes  and  our  minds  to  follow, 
too;  nor  do  I  think  there  is  any  one  who  shall  read 
this  book  and  not  find  also  that  his  conscience  is 
quickened.  There  is  a  warfare  appointed  unto  man 
upon  earth,  and  its  struggles  are  nowhere  more  in- 
tense, nor  the  victories  of  the  strong,  nor  the  suc- 
cors brought  to  the  fallen,  more  heroic,  than  on  the 
fields  described  in  this  volume. 

George  Adam  SMiTa 


BLACK  ROCK 

The  story  of  the  book  is  true,  and  chief  of  the 
failures  in  the  making  of  the  book  is  this,  that  it 
is  not  all  the  truth.  The  light  is  not  bright 
enough,  the  shadow  is  not  black  enough  to  give 
a  true  picture  of  that  bit  of  Western  life  of  which 
the  writer  was  some  small  part.  The  men  of 
the  book  are  still  there  in  the  mines  and  lumber 
camps  of  the  mountains,  fighting  out  that  eternal 
fight  for  manhood,  strong,  clean,  God-conquered. 
And,  when  the  west  winds  blow,  to  the  open 
ear  the  sounds  of  battle  come,  telling  the  for- 
tunes of  the  fight. 

Because  a  man's  life  is  all  he  has,'  and  because 
the  only  hope  of  the  brave  young  West  lies  in 
its  men,  this  story  is  told.  It  may  be  that  the 
tragic  pity  of  a  broken  life  may  move  some  to 
pray,  and  that  that  divine  power  there  is  in  a 
single  brave  heart  to  summon  forth  hope  and 
courage  may  move  some  to  fight.  If  so,  the 
tale  is  not  told  in  vain, 

c  w.  a 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTBK.  p^C2 

I.    Christmas  Eve  in  a  Lumber  Camp II 

II.     The  Black  Rock  Christmas 31 

III.  Waterioo.     Our  Fight — His  Victory 57 

IV.  Mrs,  Mayor's  Story 79 

V.    The  Making  of  the  League 99 

VI.     Black  Rock  Religion II9 

VII.     The  First  Black  Rock  Communion 137 

VIII.     The  Breaking  of  the  League 155 

IX.     The  League's  Revenge 177 

X.     What  Came  to  Slavin 197 

XI.    The  Two  Calls 225 

XII.     Love  is  Not  All 245 

XIII.  How  Nelson  Came  Home 261 

XIV.  Graeme's  New  Birth »7S 

XV.     With  the  Shield,  or  on  it 297 

XVI.     Coming  to  their  Own , 305 


Christmas  Eve  in  a  Lumber  Camp 


CHAPTER  I 

CHRISTMAS  EVE  IN  A  LUMBER  CAMP 

It  was  due  to  a  mysterious  dispensation  of  Provi- 
dence, and  a  good  deal  to  Leslie  Graeme,  that  I 
found  myself  in  the  heart  of  the  Selkirks  for  my 
Christmas  Eve  as  the  year  1882  was  dying.  It  had 
been  my  plan  to  spend  my  Christmas  far  away  in 
Toronto,  with  such  Bohemian  and  boon  companions 
as  could  be  found  in  that  cosmopolitan  and  kindly 
city.  But  Leslie  Graeme  changed  all  that,  for,  dis- 
covering me  in  the  village  of  Black  Rock,  with  my 
traps  all  packed,  waiting  for  the  stage  to  start  for 
the  Landing,  thirty  miles  away,  he  bore  down  upon 
me  with  resistless  force,  and  I  found  myself  re- 
covering from  my  surprise  only  after  we  had  gone 
in  his  lumber  sleigh  some  six  miles  on  our  way  to 
his  camp  up  in  the  mountains.  I  was  surprised  and 
much  delighted,  though  I  would  not  allow  him  to 
think  so,  to  find  that  his  old-time  power  over  me 
was  still  there.  He  could  always  in  the  old  'Varsity 
days — dear,  wild  days — make  me  do  what  he  liked. 
He  was  so  handsome  and  so  reckless,  brilliant  in  his 
class-work,   and  the  prince  of  half-backs  on  the 


12  Black  Rock 

Rugby  field,  and  with  such  power  of  fascination  as 
would  'extract  the  heart  out  of  a  wheelbarrow,' 
as  Barney  Lundy  used  to  say.  And  thus  it  was  that 
1  found  myself  just  three  weeks  later — I  was  to  have 
spent  two  or  three  days, — on  the  afternoon  of  the 
24th  of  December,  standing  in  Graeme's  Lumber 
Camp  No.  2,  wondering  at  myself.  But  I  did  not 
regret  my  changed  plans,  for  in  those  three  weeks  I 
had  raided  a  cinnamon  bear's  den  and  had  wakened 
up  a  grizzly —  But  I  shall  let  the  grizzly  finish  the 
tale;  he  probably  sees  more  humour  in  it  than  I. 

The  camp  stood  in  a  little  clearing,  and  consisted 
of  a  group  of  three  long,  low  shanties  with  smaller 
shacks  near  them,  all  built  of  heavy,  unhewn  logs, 
with  door  and  window  in  each.  The  grub  camp, 
with  cook-shed  attached,  stood  in  the  middle  of  the 
clearing;  at  a  little  distance  was  the  sleeping-camp 
with  the  office  built  against  it,  and  about  a  hundred 
yards  away  on  the  other  side  of  the  clearing  stood 
the  stables,  and  near  them  the  smiddy.  The  moun- 
tains rose  grandly  on  every  side,  throwing  up  their 
great  peaks  into  the  sky.  The  clearing  in  which 
the  camp  stood  was  hewn  out  of  a  dense  pine  forest 
that  filled  the  valley  and  climbed  half  way  up  the 
mountain-sides,  and  then  frayed  out  in  scattered 
and  stunted  trees. 


Chnstmas  Eve  in  a  Lumber  Camp      13 

It  was  One  of  those  wonderful  Canadian  winter 
days,  bright,  and  with  a  touch  of  sharpness  in  the 
air  that  did  not  chill,  but  warmed  the  blood  like 
draughts  of  wine.  The  men  were  up  in  the  woods, 
and  the  shrill  scream  of  the  blue  jay  flashing  across 
the  open,  the  impudent  chatter  of  the  red  squirrel 
from  the  top  of  the  grub  camp,  and  the  pert  chirp 
of  the  whisky-jack,  hopping  about  on  the  rubbish- 
heap,  with  the  long,  lone  cry  of  the  wolf  far  down 
the  valley,  only  made  the  silence  felt  the  more. 

As  I  stood  drinking  in  with  all  my  soul  the 
glorious  beauty  and  the  silence  of  mountain  and 
forest,  with  the  Christmas  feeling  stealing  into  me, 
Graeme  came  out  from  his  office,  and,  catching  sight 
of  me,  called  out,  'Glorious  Christmas  weather, 
old  chap!'  And  then,  coming  nearer,  'Must  you 
go  to-morrow  ? ' 

'1  fear  so,'  I  replied,  knowing  well  that  the 
Christmas  feeling  was  on  him  too. 

'  I  wish  I  were  going  with  you,'  he  said  quietly. 

I  turned  eagerly  to  persuade  him,  but  at  the  look 
of  suffering  in  his  face  the  words  died  at  my  lips, 
for  we  both  were  thinking  of  the  awful  night  of 
horror  when  all  his  bright,  brilliant  life  crashed 
down  about  him  in  black  ruin  and  shame.  I  could 
only  throw  my  arm  over  his  shoulder  and  stand 


14  Black  Rock 

silent  beside  him.  A  sudden  jingle  of  bells  roused 
him,  and,  giving  himself  a  little  shake,  he  ex- 
claimed, '  There  are  the  boys  coming  home.' 

Soon  the  camp  was  filled  with  men  talking, 
laughing,  chaffmg,  like  light-hearted  boys. 

'They  are  a  little  wild  to-night,'  said  Graeme; 
'and  to-morrow  they'll  paint  Black  Rock  red.' 

Before  many  minutes  had  gone,  the  last  teamster 
was  'washed  up,'  and  all  were  standing  about 
waiting  impatiently  for  the  cook's  signal — the  sup- 
per to-night  was  to  be  '  something  of  a  feed ' — 
when  the  sound  of  bells  drew  their  attention  to  a 
light  sleigh  drawn  by  a  buckskin  broncho  coming 
down  the  hillside  at  a  great  pace. 

'The  preacher,  I'll  bet,  by  his  driving,'  said  one 
of  the  men. 

'Bedad,  and  it's  him  has  the  foine  nose  for 
turkey!'  said  Blaney,  a  good-natured,  jovial  Irish- 
man. 

'Yes,  or  for  pay-day,  more  like,'  said  Keefe, 
a  black-browed,  villainous  fellow-countryman  of 
Blaney's,  and,  strange  to  say,  his  great  friend. 

Big  Sandy  M'Naughton,  a  Canadian  Highlander 
from  Glengarry,  rose  up  in  wrath.  'Bill  Keefe,' 
said  he,  with  deliberate  emphasis,  'you'll  just  keep 
your  dirty  tongue  off  the  minister;  and  as  for  your 


Christmas  Eve  in  a  Lumber  Camp      15 

pay,  it's  little  he  sees  of  it,  or  any  one  else,  except 
Mike  Slavin,  when  you're  too  dry.  to  wait  for  some 
one  to  treat  you,  or  perhaps  Father  Ryan,  when  tlie 
fear  of  hell-fire  is  on  to  you.' 

The  men  stood  amazed  at  Sandy's  sudden  anger 
and  length  of  speech. 

*Bon;  dat's  good  for  you,  my  bully  boy,'  said 
Baptiste,  a  wiry  little  French-Canadian,  Sandy's 
sworn  ally  and  devoted  admirer  ever  since  the  day 
when  the  big  Scotsman,  under  great  provocation, 
had  knocked  him  clean  off  the  dump  into  the  river 
and  then  jumped  in  for  him. 

It  was  not  till  afterward  I  learned  the  cause  of 
Sandy's  sudden  wrath  which  urged  him  to  such 
unwonted  length  of  speech.  It  was  not  simply 
that  the  Presbyterian  blood  carried  with  it  rever- 
ence for  the  minister  and  contempt  for  Papists  and 
Fenians,  but  that  he  had  a  vivid  remembrance  of 
how,  only  a  month  ago,  the  minister  had  got  him 
out  of  Mike  Slavin's  saloon  and  out  of  the  clutches 
of  Keefe  and  Slavin  and  their  gang  of  blood- 
suckers. 

Keefe  started  up  with  a  curse.  Baptiste  sprang 
to  Sandy's  side,  slapped  him  on  the  back,  and 
called  out,  'You  keel  him,  I'll  hit  (eat)  him  up, 
me.' 


i6  Black  Rock 

It  looked  as  if  there  might  be  a  fight,  when  a 
harsh  voice  said  in  a  low,  savage  tone,  *  Stop  your 
row,  you  blank  fools;  settle  it,  if  you  want  to, 
somewhere  else.'  I  turned,  and  was  amazed  to 
see  old  man  Nelson,  who  was  very  seldom  moved 
to  speech. 

There  was  a  look  of  scorn  on  his  nard,  iron-grey 
face,  and  of  such  settled  fierceness  as  made  me 
quite  believe  the  tales  I  had  heard  of  his  deadly 
fights  in  the  mines  at  the  coast.  Before  any  reply 
could  be  made,  the  minister  drove  up  and  called 
out  in  a  cheery  voice,  'Merry  Christmas,  boysl 
Hello,  Sandy!  Comment  9a  va,  Baptiste?  How 
do  you  do,  Mr.  Graeme  /*  * 

'First  rate.  Let  me  ntroduce  my  friend,  Mr. 
Connor,  sometime  medical  student,  now  artist, 
hunter,  and  tramp  at  large,  but  not  a  bad  sort.' 

'A  man  to  be  envied,'  said  the  minister,  smiling. 
'I  am  glad  to  know  any  friend  of  Mr.  Graeme's.' 

I  liked  Mr.  Craig  from  the  first.  He  had  good 
eyes  that  looked  straight  out  at  you,  a  clean-cut, 
strong  face  well  set  on  his  shoulders,  and  altogether 
an  upstanding,  manly  bearing.  He  insisted  on  go- 
ing with  Sandy  to  the  stables  to  see  Dandy,  his 
broncho,  put  up. 

'Decent  fellow,'  said  Graeme;  'but  though  he 


Christmas  Eve  in  a  Lumber  Camp      Vj 

is  good  enough  to  his  broncho,  it  is  Sandy  that's  in 
his  mind  now.' 

'  Does  he  come  out  often  ?  I  mean,  are  you  part 
of  his  parisli,  so  to  speak  ? ' 

'  I  have  no  doubt  lie  thinks  so ;  and  I'm  blowed 
if  he  doesn't  make  tiie  Presbyterians  of  us  think  so 
too.'  And  he  added  after  a  pause,  'A  dandy  lot  of 
parishioners  we  are  for  any  man.  There's  Sandy, 
now,  he  would  knock  Keefe's  head  off  as  a  kind 
of  religious  exercise;  but  to-morrow  Keefe  will  be 
sober,  and  Sandy  will  be  drunk  as  a  lord,  and  the 
drunker  he  is  the  better  Presbyterian  lie'U  be,  to  the 
preacher's  disgust'  Then  after  another  pause  he 
added  bitterly,  '  But  it  is  not  for  me  to  throw  rocks 
at  Sandy ;  I  am  not  the  same  kind  of  fool,  but  I  am 
a  fool  of  several  other  sorts.' 

Then  the  cook  came  out  and  beat  a  tattoo  on  the 
bottom  of  a  dish-pan.  Baptiste  answered  with  a 
yell:  but  though  keenly  hungry,  no  man  would 
demean  himself  to  do  other  than  walk  with  ap- 
parent reluctance  to  his  place  at  the  table.  At  the 
further  end  of  the  camp  was  a  big  fireplace,  and 
from  the  door  to  the  fireplace  extended  the  long 
board  tables,  covered  with  platters  of  turkey  not 
too  scientifically  carved,  dishes  of  potatoes,  bowls 
of  apple  sauce,  plates  of  butter,  pies,  and  smaller 


1 8  Black  Rock 

dishes  distributed  at  regular  intervals.  Two  lan- 
terns hanging  from  the  roof,  and  a  row  of  candles 
stuck  into  the  wall  on  either  side  by  means  of  slit 
sticks,  cast  a  dim,  weird  light  over  the  scene. 

There  was  a  moment's  silence,  and  at  a  nod  from 
Graeme  Mr.  Craig  rose  and  said,  'I  don't  know 
how  you  feel  about  it,  men,  but  to  me  this  looks 
good  enough  to  be  thankful  for.' 

'Fire  ahead,  sir,'  called  out  a  voice  quite  respect- 
fully, and  the  minister  bent  his  head  and  said  — 

'  For  Christ  the  Lord  who  came  to  save  us,  for 
all  the  love  and  goodness  we  have  known,  and  for 
these  Thy  gifts  to  us  this  Christmas  night,  our 
Father,  make  us  thankful.     Amen.' 

*Bon,  dat's  fuss  rate,'  said  Baptiste.  'Seems 
lak  dat's  make  me  hit  (eat)  more  better  for  sure,' 
and  then  no  word  was  spoken  for  quarter  of  an 
hour.  The  occasion  was  far  too  solemn  and  mo- 
ments too  precious  for  anything  so  empty  as  words. 
But  when  the  white  piles  of  bread  and  the  brown 
piles  of  turkey  had  for  a  second  time  vanished,  and 
after  the  last  pie  had  disappeared,  there  came  a 
pause  and  hush  of  expectancy,  whereupon  the  cook 
and  cookee,  each  bearing  aloft  a  huge,  blazing  pud- 
ding, came  forth. 

*  Hooray!'  yelled  Blaney,    'up  wid  yez!'  and 


Christmas  Eve  in  a  Lumber  Camp      19 

grabbing  the  cook  bv  the  shoulders  from  behind,  he 
faced  him  about. 

Mr.  Craig  was  the  first  to  respond,  and  seizing 
the  cookee  in  the  same  way,  called  out,  '  Squad,  fall 
in  !  quick  march  ! '  In  a  moment  every  man  was 
in  the  procession. 

'Strike  up,  Batchees,  ye  little  angel!'  shouted 
Blaney,  the  appellation  a  concession  to  the  minis- 
ter's presence;  and  away  went  Baptiste  in  a  rollick- 
ing French  song  with  the  English  chorus  — 

*  Then  blow,  ye  winds,  in  the  morning, 
Blow,  ye  winds,  ay  oh ! 
Blow,  ye  winds,  in  the  morning. 
Blow,  blow,  blow.' 

And  at  each  '  blow '  every  boot  came  down  with 
a  thump  on  the  plank  floor  that  shook  the  solid  roof. 
After  the  second  round,  Mr.  Craig  jumped  upon  the 
bench,  and  called  out  — 

'Three  cheers  for  Billy  the  cook! * 

In  the  silence  following  the  cheers  Baptiste  was 
heard  to  say,  '  Bon !  dat's  mak  me  feel  lak  hit  dat 
puddin'  all  hup  mesef,  me.' 

'  Hear  till  the  little  baste! '  said  Blaney  in  disgust. 

'Batchees,'  remonstrated  Sandy  gravely,  'ye'vc 
more  stomach  than  manners.' 


20  Black  Rock 

'Fu  suref  but  de  more  stomach  dat's  more  better 
for  dis  puddin','  replied  the  little  Frenchman  cheer- 
fully. 

After  a  time  the  tables  were  cleared  and  pushed 
back  to  the  wall,  and  pipes  were  produced.  In  all 
attitudes  suggestive  of  comfort  the  men  disposed 
themselves  in  a  wide  circle  about  the  fire,  which 
now  roared  and  crackled  up  the  great  wooden 
chimney  hanging  from  the  roof.  The  lumberman's 
hour  of  bliss  had  arrived.  Even  old  man  Nelson 
looked  a  shade  less  melancholy  than  usual  as  he  sat 
alone,  well  away  from  the  fire,  smoking  steadily  and 
silently.  When  the  second  pipes  were  well  ago- 
ing, one  of  the  men  took  down  a  violin  from  the 
wall  and  handed  it  to  Lachlan  Campbell.  There 
were  two  brothers  Campbell  just  out  from  Argyll, 
typical  Highlanders  :  Lachlan,  dark,  silent,  melan- 
choly, with  the  face  of  a  mystic,  and  Angus,  red- 
haired,  quick,  impulsive,  and  devoted  to  his  brother, 
a  devotion  he  thought  proper  to  cover  under  biting, 
sarcastic  speech. 

Lachlan,  after  much  protestation,  interspersed 
with  gibes  fr(5m  his  brother,  took  the  violin,  and,  in 
response  to  the  call  from  all  sides,  struck  up  '  Lord 
Macdonald's  Reel.'  In  a  moment  the  floor  was 
filled  with  dancers,  whooping  and  cracking  their 


Christmas  Eve  in  a  Lumber  Camp      21 

fingers  in  the  wildest  manner.  Then  Baptiste  did 
the  'Red  River  Jig,'  a  most  intricate  and  difficult 
series  of  steps,  the  men  keeping  time  to  the  music 
with  hands  and  feet. 

When  the  jig  was  finished,  Sandy  called  for 
'Lochaber  No  More';  but  Ca  npbell  said,  'No, 
no!  I  cannot  play  that  to-nigh i.  Mr.  Craig  will 
play.' 

Craig  took  the  violin,  and  at  the  first  note  I  knew 
he  was  no  ordinary  player.  I  did  not  recognise  the 
music,  but  it  was  soft  and  thrilling,  and  got  in  by 
the  heart,  till  every  one  was  thinking  his  tenderest 
and  saddest  thoughts. 

After  he  had  played  two  or  three  exquisite  bits, 
he  gave  Campbell  his  violin,  saying,  'Now,  "  Loch- 
aber," Lachlan.' 

Without  a  word  Lachlan  began,  not  'Lochaber' 
— he  was  not  ready  for  that  yet — but  '  The  Flowers 
&  the  Forest,'  and  from  that  wandered  through 
*Auld  Robin  Gray'  and  'The  Land  o'  the  Leal,' 
and  so  got  at  last  to  that  most  soul-subduing  of 
Scottish  laments,  'Lochaber  No  More.'  At  the 
first  strain,  his  brother,  who  had  thrown  himself  on 
some  blankets  behind  the  fire,  turned  over  on  his 
face,  feigning  sleep.  Sandy  M'Naughton  took  his 
pipe  out  of  his  mouth,  and  sat  up  straight  and  stiff. 


22  Black  Rock 

staring  into  vacancy,  and  Graeme,  beyond  the  fire^ 
drew  a  sliort,  siiarp  breath.  We  had  often  sat, 
Graeme  and  I,  in  our  student-days,  in  the  drawing- 
room  at  home,  listening  to  his  father  wailing  out 
'Lochaber'  upon  the  pipes,  and  1  well  knew  that 
the  awful  minor  strains  were  now  eating  their  way 
into  his  soul. 

Over  and  over  again  the  Highlander  played  his 
lament.  He  had  long  since  forgotten  us,  and  was 
seeing  visions  of  the  hills  and  lochs  and  glens  of  his 
far-away  native  land,  and  making  us,  too,  see 
strange  things  out  of  the  dim  past.  1  glanced  at 
old  man  Nelson,  and  was  startled  at  the  eager, 
almost  piteous,  look  in  his  eyes,  and  I  wished 
Campbell  would  stop.  Mr.  Craig  caught  my  eye, 
and,  stepping  over  to  Campbell,  held  out  his  hand 
for  the  violin.  Lingeringly  and  lovingly  the  High- 
lander drew  out  the  last  strain,  and  silently  gave 
the  minister  his  instrument. 

Without  a  moment's  pause,  and  while  the  spell 
of  '  Lochaber '  was  still  upon  us,  the  minister,  with 
exquisite  skill,  fell  into  the  refrain  of  that  simple 
and  beautiful  camp-meeting  hymn,  'The  Sweet  By 
and  By.'  After  playing  the  verse  through  once,  he 
sang  softly  the  refrain.  After  the  first  verse,  the 
men  joined  in  the  chorus;  at  first  timidly,  but  by 


Christmas  Eve  m  a  Lumber  Camp      23 

the  time  the  third  verse  was  reached  they  were 
shouting  with  throats  full  open,  '  We  shall  meet  on 
that  beautiful  shore.*  When  I  looked  at  Nelson 
the  eager  light  had  gone  out  of  his  eyes,  and  in  its 
place  was  a  kind  of  determined  hopelessness,  as  if 
in  this  new  music  he  had  no  part. 

After  the  voices  had  ceased,  Mr.  Craig  played 
again  the  refrain,  more  and  more  softly  and 
slowly;  then  laying  the  violin  on  Campbell's 
knees,  he  drew  from  his  pocket  his  little  Bible, 
and  said  — 

'Men,  with  Mr.  Graeme's  permission,  I  want  to 
read  you  something  this  Christmas  Eve.  You  will 
all  have  heard  it  before,  but  you  will  like  it  none  the 
less  for  that.' 

His  voice  was  soft,  but  clear  and  penetrating,  as 
he  read  the  eternal  story  of  the  angels  and  the 
shepherds  and  the  Babe.  And  as  he  read,  a  slight 
motion  of  the  hand  or  a  glance  of  an  eye  made  us 
see,  as  he  was  seeing,  that  whole  radiant  drama. 
The  wonder,  the  timid  joy,  the  tenderness,  the 
mystery  of  it  all,  were  borne  in  upon  us  with  over- 
powering effect.  He  closed  the  book,  and  in  the 
same  low,  clear  voice  went  on  to  tell  us  how,  in  his 
home  years  ago,  he  used  to  stand  on  Christmas  Eve 
listening  in  thrilling  delight  to  his  mother  telling 


24  Black  Rock 

him  the  story,  and  how  she  used  to  make  him  see 
the  shepherds  and  hear  the  sheep  bleating  near  by, 
and  how  the  sudden  burst  of  glory  used  to  make  his 
heart  jump. 

'  I  used  to  be  a  little  afraid  of  the  angels,  because 
a  boy  told  me  they  were  ghosts;  but  my  mother 
told  me  better,  and  I  didn't  fear  them  any  more. 
And  the  Baby,  the  dear  little  Baby — we  all  love  a 
baby.'  There  was  a  quick,  dry  sob;  it  was  from 
Nelson.  '  I  used  to  peek  through  under  to  see  the 
little  one  in  the  straw,  and  wonder  what  things 
swaddling  clothes  were.  Oh,  it  was  all  so  real  and 
so  beautiful! '  He  paused,  and  I  could  hear  the  men 
breathing. 

'But  one  Christmas  Eve/  he  went  on,  in  a 
lower,  sweeter  tone,  '  there  was  no  one  to  tell  me 
the  story,  and  I  grew  to  forget  it,  and  went  away 
to  college,  and  learned  to  think  that  it  was  only  a 
child's  tale  and  was  not  for  men.  Then  bad  days 
came  to  me  and  worse,  and  I  began  to  lose  my  grip 
of  myself,  of  life,  of  hope,  of  goodness,  till  one 
black  Christmas,  in  the  slums  of  a  far-away  city, 
when  I  had  given  up  all,  and  the  devil's  arms  were 
about  me,  I  heard  the  story  again.  And  as  I 
listened,  with  a  bitter  ache  in  my  heart,  for  I  had 
put  it  all  behind  me,  I  suddenly  found  myself  peek- 


Christmas  Eve  in  a  Lumber  Camp      25 

ing  under  the  shepherds'  arms  with  a  child's 
wonder  at  the  Baby  in  the  straw.  Then  it  came 
over  me  like  great  waves,  that  His  name  was  Jesus, 
because  it  was  He  that  should  save  men  from  their 
sins.  Save!  Savel  The  waves  kept  beating  upon 
my  ears,  and  before  I  knew,  I  had  called  out,  "  OhI 
can  He  save  me  ?  "  It  was  in  a  little  mission  meet- 
ing on  one  of  the  side  streets,  and  they  seemed  to 
be  used  to  that  sort  of  thing  there,  for  no  one  was 
surprised;  and  a  young  fellow  leaned  across  the 
aisle  to  me  and  said,  "Why!  you  just  bet  He  can! " 
His  surprise  that  I  should  doubt,  his  bright  face  and 
confident  tone,  gave  me  hope  that  perhaps  it  might 
be  so.  I  held  to  that  hope  with  all  my  soul,  and ' — 
stretching  up  his  arms,  and  with  a  quick  glow  in 
his  face  and  a  little  break  in  his  voice,  *  He  hasn't 
failed  me  yet;  not  once,  not  once! ' 

He  stopped  quite  short,  and  I  felt  a  good  deal 
like  making  a  fool  of  myself,  for  in  those  days  I 
had  not  made  up  my  mind  about  these  things. 
Graeme,  poor  old  chap,  was  gazing  at  him  with  a 
sad  yearning  in  his  dark  eyes ;  big  Sandy  was  sit- 
ting very  stiff,  and  staring  harder  than  ever  into  the 
fire;  Baptiste  was  trembling  with  excitement; 
Blaney  was  openly  wiping  the  tears  away.  But 
the  face  that  held  my  eyes  was  that  of  old  man 


2b  Black  Rock 

Nelson.  It  was  white,  fierce,  hungry-looking,  his 
sunken  eyes  burning,  his  lips  parted  as  if  to  cry. 

The  minister  went  on.  'I  didn't  mean  to  tell 
you  this,  men,  it  all  came  over  me  with  a  rush ;  but 
it  is  true,  every  word,  and  not  a  word  will  I  take 
back.  And,  what's  more,  I  can  tell  you  this,  what 
He  did  for  me  He  can  do  for  any  man,  and  it  doesn't 
make  any  difference  what's  behind  him,  and' — 
leaning  slightly  forward,  and  with  a  little  thrill  of 
pathos  vibrating  in  his  voice — '  O  boys,  why  don't 
you  give  Him  a  chance  at  you?  Without  Him 
you'll  never  be  the  men  you  want  to  be,  and  you'll 
never  get  the  better  of  that  that's  keeping  some  of 
you  now  from  going  back  home.  You  know  you'll 
never  go  back  till  you're  the  men  you  want  to  be." 
Then,  lifting  up  his  face  and  throwing  back  his  head, 
he  said,  as  if  to  himself,  'Jesus!  He  shall  save  His 
people  from  their  sins,'  and  then,  '  Let  us  pray.' 

Graeme  leaned  forward  with  his  face  in  his 
hands;  Baptiste  and  Blaney  dropped  on  their  knees; 
Sandy,  the  Campbells,  and  some  others,  stood  up. 
Old  man  Nelson  held  his  eyes  steadily  on  the  min- 
ister. 

Only  once  before  had  I  seen  that  look  on  a  hu- 
man face.  A  young  fellow  had  broken  through  the 
ice  on  the  river  at  home,  and  as  the  black  water 


Christmas  Eve  in  a  Lumber  Camp      27 

was  dragging  his  fingers  one  by  one  from  the  slip- 
pery edges,  there  came  over  his  face  that  same  look. 
I  used  to  wake  up  for  many  a  night  after  in  a  sweat 
of  horror,  seeing  the  white  face  with  its  parting 
lips,  and  its  piteous,  dumb  appeal,  and  the  black 
water  slowly  sucking  it  down. 

Nelson's  face  brought  it  all  back;  but  during  the 
prayer  the  face  changed,  and  seemed  to  settle  into 
resolve  of  some  sort,  stern,  almost  gloomy,  as  of  a 
man  with  his  last  chance  before  him. 

After  the  prayer  Mr.  Craig  invited  the  men  to  a 
Christmas  dinner  next  day  in  Black  Rock.  'And 
because  you  are  an  independent  lot,  we'll  charge 
you  half  a  dollar  for  dinner  and  the  evening  show.' 
Then  leaving  a  bundle  of  magazines  and  illustrated 
papers  on  the  table — a  godsend  to  the  men — he  said 
good-bye  and  went  out. 

I  was  to  go  with  the  minister,  so  I  jumped  into 
the  sleigh  first,  and  waited  while  he  said  good-bye 
to  Graeme,  who  had  been  hard  hit  by  the  whole 
service,  end  seemed  to  want  to  say  something.  I 
heard  Mr.  Craig  say  cheerfully  and  confidently,  '  It's 
a  true  bill:  try  Him.' 

Sandy,  who  had  been  steadying  Dandy  while 
that  interesting  broncho  was  attempting  with  great 
success  to  balance  himself  on  his  hind  legs,  came  to 


28  Black  Rock 

say  good-bye.  'Come  and  see  me  first  thing, 
Sandy.' 

'Ay!  I  know;  I'll  see  ye,  Mr.  Craig,'  said  Sandy, 
earnestly,  as  Dandy  dashed  off  at  a  full  gallop 
across  the  clearing  and  over  the  bridge,  steadying 
down  when  he  reached  the  hill. 

'Steady,  you  idiot!' 

This  was  to  Dandy,  who  had  taken  a  sudden  side 
spring  into  the  deep  snow,  almost  upsetting  us.  A 
man  stepped  out  from  the  shadow.  It  was  old 
man  Nelson.  He  came  straight  to  the  sleigh,  and, 
ignoring  my  presence  completely,  said  — 

'Mr.  Craig,  are  you  dead  sure  of  this?  Will  it 
work  ? ' 

'Do  you  mean,'  said  Craig,  taking  him  up 
promptly,  'can  Jesus  Christ  save  you  from  your 
sins  and  make  a  man  of  you  ? ' 

The  old  man  nodded,  keeping  his  hungry  eyes  on 
the  other's  face. 

'Well,  here's  His  message  to  you:  "The  Son  of 
Man  is  come  to  seek  and  to  save  that  which  was 
lost."' 

'  To  me  ?    To  me  ? '  said  the  old  man,  eagerly. 

'Listen;  this,  too,  is  His  word:  "Him  that 
Cometh  unto  Me  I  will  in  no  wise  cast  out."  That's 
for  you,  for  here  you  are,  coming,' 


Christmas  Eve  in  a  Lumber  Camp      19 

'  You  don't  know  me,  Mr.  Craig.  I  left  my 
baby  fifteen  years  ago  because ' 

'Stop!'  said  tlie  minister.  'Don't  tell  me,  at 
least  not  to-night;  perhaps  never.  Tell  Him  who 
knows  it  all  now,  and  who  never  betrays  a  secret. 
Have  it  out  with  Him.  Don't  be  afraid  to  trust 
Him.' 

Nelson  looked  at  him,  with  his  face  quivering, 
and  said  in  a  husky  voice,  *  If  this  is  no  good,  it's 
hell  for  me.' 

'If  it  is  no  good,'  replied  Craig,  almost  sternly, 
'it's  nell  for  all  of  us.' 

The  old  man  straightened  himself  up.  looked  up 
at  the  stars,  then  back  at  Mr.  Craig,  then  at  me,  and, 
drawing  a  deep  breath  said,  '  I'll  try  Him.'  As  he 
was  turning  away  the  minister  touched  him  on  the 
arm,  and  said  quietly,  '  Keep  an  eye  on  Sandy  to- 
morrow.' 

Nelson  nodded,  and  we  went  on ;  but  before  we 
took  the  next  turn  I  looked  back  and  saw  what 
brought  a  lump  into  my  throat.  It  was  old  man 
Nelson  on  his  knees  in  the  snow,  with  his  hands 
spread  upward  to  the  stars,  and  I  wondered  if  there 
was  any  One  above  the  stars,  and  nearer  than  the 
stars,  who  could  see.  And  then  the  trees  hid  him 
from  my  sight. 


The  Black  Rock  Christmas 


CHAPTER  II 

THE   BLACK   ROCK  CHRISTMAS 

Many  strange  Christmas  Days  have  I  seen,  but 
that  wild  Black  Rock  Christmas  stands  out  strangest 
of  all.  While  I  was  revelling  in  my  delicious 
second  morning  sleep,  just  awake  enough  to  enjoy 
it,  Mr.  Craig  came  abruptly,  announcing  breakfast 
and  adding,  '  Hope  you  are  in  good  shape,  for  we 
have  our  work  before  us  this  day.' 

'Hello!'  I  replied,  still  half  asleep,  and  anxious 
to  hide  from  the  minister  that  I  was  trying  to  gain 
a  few  more  moments  of  snoozing  delight,  '  what's 
abroad  ? ' 

'The  devil,'  he  answered  shortly,  and  with  such 
emphasis  that  I  sat  bolt  upright,  looking  anxiously 
about. 

'Oh!  no  need  for  alarm.  He's  not  after  you 
particularly — at  least  not  to-day,'  said  Craig,  with 
a  shadow  of  a  smile.  '  But  he  is  going  about  in 
good  style,  I  can  tell  you.' 

By  this  time  I  was  quite  awake.  '  Well,  what 
particular  style  does  His  Majesty  affect  this  morn- 
ing?' 

33 


M  Black  Rock 

He  pulled  out  a  showbill.  *  Peculiarly  gaudy 
and  effective,  is  it  not  ? ' 

The  items  announced  were  sutFiciently  attractive. 
The  'Frisco  Opera  Company  were  to  produce  the 
'screaming  farce,'  'The  Gay  and  Giddy  Dude'; 
after  which  there  was  to  be  a  'Grand  Ball,'  during 
which  the  *  Kalifornia  Female  Kickers '  were  to  do 
some  fancy  figures;  the  whole  to  be  followed  by  a 
*big  supper'  with  'two  free  drinks  to  every  man 
and  one  to  the  lady,'  and  all  for  the  insignificant 
sum  of  two  dollars. 

'  Can't  you  go  one  better  ?  *  I  said. 

He  looked  inquiringly  and  a  little  disgustedly  at 
me. 

'  What  can  you  do  against  free  drinks  and  a 
dance,  not  to  speak  of  the  "High  Kickers  '?*  he 
groaned. 

'No!'  he  continued;  'it's  a  clean  beat  for  us 
to-day.  The  miners  and  lumbermen  will  have  in 
their  pockets  ten  thousand  dollars,  and  every  dollar 
burning  a  hole;  and  Slavin  and  his  gang  will  get 
most  of  it.  But,'  he  added,  'you  must  have 
breakfast.  You'll  find  a  tub  in  the  kitchen;  don't 
be  afraid  to  splash.  It  is  the  best  I  have  to  offer 
you.' 

The  tub  sounded  inviting,  and  before  many  min- 


The  Black  Rock  Christmas  35 

utes  had  passed  I  was  in  a  delightful  glow,  the  effect 
of  cold  water  and  a  rough  towel,  and  that  conscious- 
ness of  virtue  that  comes  to  a  man  who  has  had 
courage  to  face  his  cold  bath  on  a  winter  morning. 

The  breakfast  was  laid  with  fine  taste.  A  dimin- 
utive pine-tree,  in  a  pot  hung  round  with  winter- 
green,  stood  in  the  centre  of  the  table. 

'Well,  now,  this  looks  good;  porridge,  beef- 
steak, potatoes,  toast,  and  marmalade.' 

'  I  hope  you  will  enjoy  it  all.' 

There  was  not  much  talk  over  our  meal.  Mr. 
Craig  was  evidently  preoccupied,  and  as  blue  as  his 
politeness  would  allow  him.  Slavin's  victory 
weighed  upon  his  spirits.  Finally  he  burst  out, 
'Look  here!  I  can't,  I  won't  stand  it;  something 
must  be  done.  Last  Christmas  this  town  was  for 
two  weeks,  as  one  of  the  miners  said,  "  a  little  sub- 
urb of  hell."  It  was  something  too  awful.  And  at 
the  end  of  it  all  one  young  fellow  was  found  dead 
in  his  shack,  and  twenty  or  more  crawled  back  to 
the  camps,  leaving  their  three  months'  pay  with 
Slavin  and  his  suckers. 

'I  won't  stand  it,  I  say.'  He  turned  fiercely  on 
me.     '  What's  to  be  done  ? ' 

This  rather  took  me  aback,  for  I  had  troubled  my- 
self with  nothing  of  this  sort  in  my  life  before, 


36  Black  Rock 

being  fully  occupied  in  keeping  myself  out  of  diffi- 
culty, and  allowing  others  the  same  privilege.  So 
I  ventured  the  consolation  that  he  had  done  his  part, 
and  that  a  spree  more  or  less  would  not  make  much 
difference  to  these  men.  But  the  next  moment  I 
wished  I  had  been  slower  in  speech,  for  he  swiftly 
faced  me,  and  his  words  came  like  a  torrent. 

'  God  forgive  you  that  heartless  word !  Do  you 
know — ?  But  no;  you  don't  know  what  you 
are  saying.  You  don't  know  that  these  men  have 
been  clambering  for  dear  life  out  of  a  fearful  pit 
for  three  months  past,  and  doing  good  climbing 
too,  poor  chaps.  You  don't  think  that  some  of 
them  have  wives,  most  of  them  mothers  and  sis- 
ters, in  the  east  or  across  the  sea,  for  whose  sake 
they  are  slaving  here;  the  miners  hoping  to  save 
enough  to  bring  their  families  to  this  homeless 
place,  the  rest  to  make  enough  to  go  back  with 
credit.  Why,  there's  Nixon,  miner,  splendid  chap; 
has  been  here  for  two  years,  and  drawing  the  high- 
est pay.  Twice  he  has  been  in  sight  of  his  heaven, 
for  he  can't  speak  of  his  wife  and  babies  without 
breaking  up,  and  twice  that  slick  son  of  the  devil — 
that's  Scripture,  mind  you — Slavin,  got  him,  and 
"rolled"  him,  as  the  boys  say.  He  went  back  to 
the  mines  broken  in  body  and  in  heart.     He  says 


The  Black  Rock  Christmas  37 

this  is  his  thiird  and  last  chance.  If  Slavin  gets  him, 
his  wife  and  babies  will  never  see  him  on  earth  or 
in  heaven.  There  is  Sandy,  too,  and  the  rest. 
And.'  he  added,  in  a  lower  tone,  and  with  the  curi- 
ous little  thrill  of  pathos  in  his  voice,  'this  is  the 
day  the  Saviour  came  to  the  world.'  He  paused, 
and  then  with  a  little  sad  smile,  '  But  I  don't  want 
to  abuse  you.' 

'  Do,  1  enjoy  it,  I'm  a  beast,  a  selfish  beast ; '  for 
somehow  his  intense,  blazing  earnestness  made  me 
feel  uncomfortably  small. 

*  What  have  we  to  offer  ?  *  I  demanded. 

*  Wait  till  I  have  got  these  things  cleared  away, 
and  my  housekeeping  done.' 

I  pressed  my  services  upon  him,  somewhat 
feebly,  I  own,  for  I  can't  bear  dishwater;  but  he  re- 
jected my  offer. 

'  I  don't  like  trusting  my  china  to  the  hands  of  a 
tender-foot.' 

'  Quite  right,  though  your  china  would  prove  an 
excellent  means  of  defence  at  long  range.'  It  was 
delf,  a  quarter  of  an  inch  thick.  So  I  smoked  while 
he  washed  up,  swept,  dusted,  and  arranged  the 
room. 

After  the  room  was  ordered  to  his  taste,  we  pro- 
ceeded to  hold  council.     He  could  offer   dinner. 


38  Black  Rock 

magic  lantern,  music.  'We  can  fill  in  time  for 
two  hours,  but,'  he  added  gloomily,  'we  can't 
beat  the  dance  and  the  "  High  Kickers." ' 

'  Have  you  nothing  new  or  startling  ? ' 

He  shook  his  head. 

'No  kind  of  show?  Dog  show?  Snake 
charmer  ? ' 

'  Slavin  has  a  monopoly  of  the  snakes.' 

Then  he  added  hesitatingly,  '  There  was  an  old 
Punch-and-judy  chap  here  last  year,  but  he  died 
Whisky  again.' 

'  What  happened  to  his  show  ?' 

'  The  Black  Rock  Hotel  man  took  it  for  board 
and  whisky  bill.     He  has  it  still,  I  suppose.' 

I  did  not  much  relish  the  business;  but  1  hated  to 
see  him  beaten,  so  I  ventured,  *  I  have  run  a  Punch 
and  Judy  in  an  amateur  way  at  the  'Varsity.' 

He  sprang  to  his  feet  with  a  yell. 

'You  have!  you  mean  to  say  it?  We've  got 
them!  We've  beaten  them!'  He  had  an  extraor- 
dinary way  of  taking  your  help  for  granted.  'The 
miner  chaps,  mostly  English  and  Welsh,  went  mad 
over  the  poor  old  showman,  gnd  made  him  so 
wealthy  that  in  sheer  gratitude  he  drank  himself  to 
death.' 

He  walked  up  and  down  in  high  excitement  and 


The  Black  Rock  Christmas  39 

in  such  evident  delight  that  I  felt  pledged  to  my 
best  effort. 

'Well,'  I  said,  'first  the  poster.  We  must  beat 
them  in  that.' 

He  brought  me  large  sheets  of  brown  paper,  and 
after  two  hours'  hard  work  I  had  half  a  dozen  pic- 
torial showbills  done  in  gorgeous  colours  and  strik- 
ing designs.     They  were  good,  if  I  do  say  it  myself. 

The  turkey,  the  magic  lantern,  the  Punch  and 
Judy  show  were  all  there,  the  last  with  a  crowd 
before  it  in  gaping  delight.  A  few  explanatory 
words  were  thrown  in,  emphasising  the  highly  art- 
istic nature  of  the  Punch  and  Judy  entertainment. 

Craig  was  delighted,  and  proceeded  to  perfect  his 
plans.  He  had  some  half  a  dozen  young  men,  four 
young  ladies,  and  eight  or  ten  matrons,  upon  whom 
he  could  depend  for  help.  These  he  organised  into 
a  vigilance  committee  charged  with  the  duty  of 
preventing  miners  and  lumbermen  from  getting 
away  to  Slavin's.  'The  critical  moments  will  be 
immediately  before  and  after  dinner,  and  then  again 
after  the  show  is  over,'  he  explained.  'The  first 
two  crises  must  be  left  to  the  care  of  Punch  and 
Judy,  and  as  for  the  last,  I  am  not  yet  sure  what 
shall  be  done;'  but  1  saw  he  had  something  in  his 
head,  for  he  added,  '1  shall  see  Mrs.  Mavor.' 


40  Black  Rock 

'Who  is  Mrs.  Mavor?'  I  asked  But  he  made 
no  reply.  He  was  a  born  fighter,  and  he  put  the 
fighting  spirit  into  us  ail.    We  were  bound  to  win. 

The  sports  were  to  begin  at  two  o'clock.  By 
lunch-time  everything  was  in  readiness.  After 
lunch  I  was  having  a  quiet  smoke  in  Craig's  shack 
when  in  he  rushed,  saying  - 

'The  battle  will  be  lost  before  it  is  fought.  If 
we  lose  Quatre  Bras,  we  shall  never  get  to  Water- 
loo.' 

'What's  up?' 

'Slavin,  just  now.  The  miners  are  coming  in, 
and  he  will  have  them  in  tow  in  half  an  hour.' 

He  looked  at  me  appealingly.  I  knew  what  he 
wanted. 

'All  right;  I  suppose  I  must,  but  it  is  an  awful 
bore  that  a  man  can't  have  a  quiet  smoke.' 

'You're  not  half  a  bad  fellow,'  he  replied,  smil- 
ing. '  I  shall  get  the  ladies  to  furnish  coffee  inside 
the  booth.  You  furnish  them  intellectual  nourish- 
ment in  front  with  dear  old  Punch  and  Judy.' 

He  sent  a  boy  with  a  bell  round  the  village  an- 
nouncing, '  Punch  and  Judy  in  front  of  the  Christ- 
mas booth  beside  the  church ' ;  and  for  three-quar^ 
ters  of  an  hour  I  shrieked  and  sweated  in  that  awful 
little  pen.    But  it  was  almost  worth  it  to  hear  the 


The  Black  Rock  Christmas  4» 

shouts  of  appro  *ral  and  laughter  that  greeted  my 
performance.  It  was  cold  work  standing  about,  so 
that  the  crowd  was  quite  ready  to  respond  when 
Punch,  after  being  duly  hanged,  came  forward  and 
invited  all  into  the  booth  for  the  hot  coffee  which 
Judy  had  ordered. 

In  they  trooped,  and  Quatre  Bras  was  won. 

No  sooner  were  the  miners  safely  engaged  with 
their  coffee  than  I  heard  a  great  noise  of  bells  and 
of  men  shouting;  and  on  reaching  the  street  I  saw 
that  the  men  from  the  lumber  camp  were  coming 
in.  Two  immense  sleighs,  decorated  with  ribbons 
and  spruce  boughs,  each  drawn  by  a  four-horse 
team  gaily  adorned,  filled  with  some  fifty  men, 
singing  and  shouting  with  all  their  might,  were 
coming  down  the  hill  road  at  full  gallop.  Round 
the  corner  they  swung,  dashed  at  full  speed  across 
the  bridge  and  down  the  street,  and  pulled  up  after 
they  had  made  the  circuit  of  a  block,  to  the  great 
admiration  of  the  onlookers.  Among  others  Slavin 
sauntered  up  good-naturedly,  making  himself  agree- 
able to  Sandy  and  those  who  were  helping  to  un- 
hitch his  team. 

'  Oh,  you  need  not  take  trouble  with  me  or  my 
team,  Mike  Slavin.  Batchees  and  me  and  the  boys 
can  look  after  them  fine,'  said  Sandy  coolly. 


42  Black  Rock 

This  rejecting  of  hospitality  was  perfectly  under- 
stood by  Slavin  and  by  all. 

'Dat's  too  bad,  heh?'  said  Baptiste  wickedly; 
'  and,  Sandy,  he's  got  good  money  on  his  pocket 
for  sure,  too.'  The  boys  laughed,  and  Slavin,  join- 
ing in,  turned  away  with  Keefe  and  Blaney ;  but  by 
the  look  in  his  eye  I  knew  he  was  playing  '  Br'er 
Rabbit,'  and  lying  low. 

Mr.  Craig  just  then  came  up,  '  Hello,  boys  1  too 
late  for  Punch  and  Judy,  but  just  in  time  for  hot 
coffee  and  doughnuts.' 

'Bon;  dat's  fuss  rate,'  said  Baptiste  heartily; 
*  where  you  keep  him  ? ' 

'Up  in  the  tent  next  the  church  there.  The 
miners  are  all  in.' 

'Ah,  dat  so?  Dat's  bad  news  for  the  shanty- 
men,  heh,  Sandy  ? '  said  the  little  Frenchman  dole- 
fully. 

'There  was  a  clothes-basket  full  of  doughnuts 
and  a  boiler  of  coffee  left  as  I  passed  just  now,' 
said  Craig  encouragingly. 

'AUons,  mes  gar^ons;  vitel  never  say  keel!' 
cried  Baptiste  excitedly,  stripping  oflF  the  harness. 

But  Sandy  would  not  leave  the  horses  till  they 
were  carefully  rubbed  down,  blanketed,  and  fed, 
for  he  was  entered  for  the  four-horse  race  and  it 


The  Black  Rock  Christmas  43 

behoved  him  to  do  his  best  to  win.  Besides,  he 
scorned  to  hurry  himself  for  anything  so  unimpor- 
tant as  eating  ;  that  he  considered  hardly  worthy 
even  of  Baptiste.  Mr.  Craig  managed  to  get  a 
word  with  him  before  he  went  off,  and  I  saw 
Sandy  solemnly  and  emphatically  shake  his  head, 
saying,  'Ah!  we'll  beat  him  this  day,'  and  1 
gathered  that  he  was  added  to  the  vigilance  com- 
mittee. 

Old  man  Nelson  was  busy  with  his  own  team. 
He  turned  slowly  at  Mr.  Craig's  greeting,  *  How  is 
it.  Nelson  ? '  and  it  was  with  a  very  grave  voice  he 
answered,  'I  hardly  know,  sir;  but  I  am  not  gone 
yet,  though  it  seems  little  to  hold  to.' 

'AH  you  want  for  a  grip  is  what  your  hand  can 
cover.  What  would  you  have?  And  besides,  do 
you  know  why  you  are  not  gone  yet  ? ' 

The  old  man  waited,  looking  at  the  minister 
gravely. 

'  Because  He  hasn't  let  go  His  grip  of  you. 

'  How  do  you  know  He's  gripped  me?' 

'Now,  look  here.  Nelson,  do  you  want  to  quit 
this  thing  and  give  it  all  up  ? ' 

'No,  no!  For  Heaven's  sake,  no!  Why,  do  you 
think  I  have  lost  it  ? '  said  Nelson,  almost  piteously. 

'Well,  He's  keener  about  it  than  you;   and  I'll 


44  Black  Rock 

bet  you  haven't  thought  it  worth  while  to  thank 
Him.' 

*To  thank  Him/  he  repeated,  almost  stupidly, 
'for ' 

'For  keeping  you  where  you  are  overnight,'  said 
Mr.  Craig,  almost  sternly. 

The  old  man  gazed  at  the  minister,  a  light  grow- 
ing in  his  eyes. 

'You're  right.  Thank  God,  you're  right.'  And 
then  he  turned  quickly  away,  and  went  into  the 
stable  behind  his  team.  It  was  a  minute  before  he 
came  out.     Over  his  face  there  was  a  trembling 

joy- 

'Can  1  do  anything  for  you  to-day?'  he  asked 
humbly. 

'Indeed  you  just  can,'  said  the  minister,  taking 
his  hand  and  shaking  it  very  warmly;  and  then  he 
told  him  Slavin's  programme  and  ours. 

'  Sandy  is  all  right  till  after  his  race.  After  that 
is  his  time  of  danger,'  said  the  minister. 

'I'll  stay  with  him,  sir,'  said  old  Nelson,  in  the 
tone  of  a  man  taking  a  covenant,  and  immediately 
set  off  for  the  coffee-tent. 

'Here  comes  another  recruit  for  your  corps,'  I 
said,  pointing  to  Leslie  Graeme,  who  was  coming 
down  the  street  at  that  moment  in  his  light  sleigh. 


The  Black  Rock  Christmas  45 

'  I  am  not  so  sure.  Do  you  think  you  could  got 
him?' 

I  laughed.     '  You  are  a  good  one.' 

'Well,'  he  replied,  half  defiantly,  'is  not  this 
your  fight  too  ? ' 

*  You  make  me  think  so,  though  I  am  bound  to 
say  I  hardly  recognise  myself  to-day.  But  here 
goes,'  and  before  I  knew  it  I  was  describing  our 
plans  to  Graeme,  growing  more  and  more  enthusi- 
astic as  he  sat  in  his  sleigh,  listening  with  a  quiz- 
zical smile  I  didn't  quite  like. 

'He's  got  you  too,'  he  said;  ' I  feared  so.' 

'Well,'  I  laughed,  'perhaps  so.  But  I  want  to 
lick  that  man  Slavin.  I've  just  seen  him,  and  he's 
just  what  Craig  calls  him,  "a  slick  son  of  the  devil." 
Don't  be  shocked;  he  says  it  is  Scripture.' 

'Revised  version,'  said  Graeme  gravely,  while 
Craig  looked  a  little  abashed. 

'What  is  assigned  me,  Mr.  Craig?  for  I  know 
that  this  man  is  simply  your  agent' 

I  repudiated  the  idea,  while  Mr.  Craig  said 
nothing. 

*  What's  my  part  ? '  demanded  Graeme. 

'Well,'  said  Mr.  Craig  hesitatingly,  'of  course  I 
would  do  nothing  till  I  had  consulted  you;  but  I  want 
a  man  to  take  my  place  at  the  sports.    I  am  referee.* 


♦6  Black  Rock 

'That's  all  right,'  said  Graeme,  with  an  air  of 
relief;  '  1  expected  something  hard.' 

'  And  then  I  thought  you  would  not  mind  pre- 
siding at  dinner — I  want  it  to  go  off  well.' 

'  Did  you  notice  that  ? '  said  Graeme  to  me. 
'  Not  a  bad  touch,  eh  ? ' 

'That's  nothing  to  the  way  he  touched  me. 
Wait  and  learn,'  1  answered,  while  Craig  looked 
quite  distressed.  *  He'll  do  it,  Mr.  Craig,  never 
fear,'  I  said,  'and  any  other  Utile  duty  that  may 
occur  to  you. ' 

'  Now  that's  too  bad  of  you.  That  is  all  I  want, 
honour  bright,'  he  replied;  adding,  as  he  turned 
away,  'you  are  just  in  time  for  a  cup  of  coffee,  Mr. 
Graeme.     Now  1  must  see  Mrs.  Mavor.' 

'Who  is  Mrs.  Mavor  ?'  I  demanded  of  Graeme. 

*  Mrs.  Mavor  ?    The  miners'  guardian  angel.' 

We  put  up  the  horses  and  set  off  for  coffee.  As 
we  approached  the  booth  Graeme  caught  sight  of 
the  Punch  and  Judy  show,  stood  still  in  amaze- 
ment, and  exclaimed,  '  Can  the  dead  live  ? ' 

'Punch  and  Judy  never  die,'  I  replied  solemnly. 

'But  the  old  manipulator  is  dead  enough,  poor 
old  beggar!' 

'But  he  left  his  mantle,  as  you  see.' 

He  looked  at  me  a  moment. 


The  Black  Rock  Christmas  47 

•What!  do  you  mean,  you ?' 

'Yes,  that  is  exactly  what  I  do  mean.' 

'  He  is  a  great  man,  that  Craig  fellow — a  truly 
great  man.' 

And  then  he  leaned  up  against  a  tree  and  laughed 
till  the  tears  came.  'I  say,  old  boy,  don't  mind 
me,'  he  gasped,  'but  do  you  remember  the  old 
'Varsity  show  ?  * 

'Yes,  you  villain;  and  I  remember  your  part  in 
it.  I  wonder  how  you  can,  even  at  this  remote 
date,  laugh  at  it.'  For  I  had  a  vivid  recollection  of 
how  after  a  '  chaste  and  highly  artistic  performance 
of  this  mediaeval  play '  had  been  given  before  a 
distinguished  Toronto  audience,  the  trapdoor  by 
which  I  had  entered  my  box  was  fastened,  and  I 
was  left  to  swelter  in  my  cage,  and  forced  to  listen 
to  the  suffocated  laughter  from  the  wings  and  the 
stage  whispers  of  '  Hello,  Mr.  Punch,  where's  the 
baby  ?'  And  for  many  a  day  after  I  was  subjected 
to  anxious  inquiries  as  to  the  locality  and  health  of 
'the  baby,'  and  whether  it  was  able  to  be  out. 

*0h,  the  dear  old  days!'  he  kept  saying,  over 
and  over,  in  a  tone  so  full  of  sadness  that  my  heart 
grew  sore  for  him  and  1  forgave  him,  as  many  a 
/ime  before. 

The  sports  passed  off  in  typical  Western  style. 


4t  Black  Rock 

in  addition  to  the  usual  running  and  leaping  con- 
tests, tliere  was  rifle  and  pistol  shooting,  in  both  of 
which  old  Nelson  stood  first,  with  Shaw,  foreman 
of  the  mines,  second. 

The  great  event  of  the  day,  however,  was  to  be 
the  four-horse  race,  for  which  three  teams  were  en- 
tered— one  from  the  mines  driven  by  Nixon,  Craig's 
friend,  a  citizens'  team,  and  Sandy's.  The  race 
was  really  between  the  miners'  team,  and  that  from 
the  woods,  for  the  citizens'  team,  though  made  up 
of  speedy  horses,  had  not  been  driven  much  to- 
gether, and  knew  neither  their  driver  nor  each 
other.  In  the  miners'  team  were  four  bays,  very 
powerful,  a  trifle  heavy  perhaps,  but  Well  matched, 
perfectly  trained,  and  perfectly  handled  by  theif 
driver.  Sandy  had  his  long  rangy  roans,  and  foi 
leaders  a  pair  of  half-broken  pinto  bronchos.  The 
pintos,  caught  the  summer  before  upon  the  Alberta 
prairies,  were  fleet  as  deer,  but  wicked  and  uncer- 
tain. They  were  Baptiste's  special  care  and  pride. 
If  they  would  only  run  straight  there  was  little 
doubt  that  they  would  carry  the  roans  and  them- 
selves to  glory;  but  one  could  not  tell  the  moment 
they  might  bolt  or  kick  things  to  pieces. 

Being  the  only  non-partisan  in  the  crowd  I  was 
asked  to  referee.    The  race  waj  about  half  a  mile 


The  Black  Rock  Christmas  49 

and  return,  the  first  and  last  quarters  being  upon 
the  ice.  The  course,  after  leaving  the  ice,  led  up 
from  the  river  by  a  long  easy  slope  to  the  level 
above;  and  at  the  further  end  curved  somewhat 
sharply  round  the  Old  Fort.  The  only  condition  at- 
taching to  the  race  was  that  the  teams  should  start 
from  the  scratch,  make  the  turn  of  the  Fort,  and 
finish  at  the  scratch.  There  were  no  vexing  regu- 
lations as  to  fouls.  The  man  making  the  foul 
would  find  it  necessary  to  reckon  with  the  crowd, 
which  was  considered  sufficient  guarantee  for  a  fair 
and  square  race.  Owing  to  the  hazards  of  the 
course,  the  result  would  depend  upon  the  skill  of 
drivers  quite  as  much  as  upon  the  speed  of  the 
teams.  The  points  of  hazard  were  at  the  turn 
round  the  Old  Fort,  and  at  a  little  ravine  which  led 
down  to  the  river,  over  which  the  road  passed  by 
means  of  a  long  log  bridge  or  causeway. 

From  a  point  upon  the  high  bank  of  the  river  the 
whole  course  lay  in  open  view.  It  was  a  scene  full 
of  life  and  vividly  picturesque.  There  were  miners 
in  dark  clothes  and  peak  caps;  citizens  in  ordinary 
garb;  ranchmen  in  wide  cowboy  hats  and  buckskin 
shirts  and  leggings,  some  with  cartridge-belts  and 
pistols;  a  few  half-breeds  and  Indians  in  half-na- 
tive, half-civilised  dress;  and  scattering  through  the 


50  Black  Rock 

crowd  the  lumbermen  with  gay  scarlet  and  blue 
blanket  coats,  and  some  with  knitted  tuques  of  the 
same  colours.  A  very  good-natured  but  extremely 
uncertain  crowd  it  was.  At  the  head  of  each  horse 
stood  a  man,  but  at  the  pintos'  heads  Baptiste  stood 
alone,  trying  to  hold  down  the  off  leader,  thrown 
into  a  frenzy  of  fear  by  the  yelling  of  the  crowd. 

Gradually  all  became  quiet,  till,  in  the  midst  of 
absolute  stillness,  came  the  words,  *Are  you 
ready?'  then  the  pistol-shot  and  the  great  race  had 
begun.  Above  the  roar  of  the  crowd  came  the 
shrill  cry  of  Baptiste,  as  he  struck  his  broncho  with 
the  palm  of  his  hand,  and  swung  himself  into  the 
sleigh  beside  Sandy,  as  it  shot  past. 

Like  a  flash  the  bronchos  sprang  to  the  front,  two 
lengths  before  the  other  teams;  but,  terrified  by  the 
yelling  of  the  crowd,  instead  of  bending  to  the  left 
bank  up  which  the  road  wound,  they  wheeled  to 
the  right  and  were  almost  across  the  river  before 
Sandy  could  swing  them  back  into  the  course. 

Baptiste's  cries,  a  curious  mixture  of  French  and 
English,  continued  to  strike  through  all  other  sounds 
till  they  gained  the  top  of  the  slope  to  find  the 
others  almost  a  hundred  yards  in  front,  the  citizens' 
team  leading,  with  the  miners*  following  close. 
The  moment  the  pintos  caught  sight  of  the  teams 


The  Black  Rock  Christmas  5» 

before  them  they  set  off  at  a  terrific  pace  and  stead- 
ily devoured  the  intervening  space.  Nearer  and 
nearer  the  turn  came,  the  eight  horses  in  front,  run- 
ning straight  and  well  within  their  speed.  After 
them  flew  the  pintos,  running  savagely  with  ears 
set  back,  leading  well  the  big  roans,  thundering 
along  and  gaining  at  every  bound.  And  now  the 
citizens'  team  had  almost  reached  the  Fort,  running 
hard,  and  drawing  away  from  the  bays.  But  Nixon 
knev/  what  he  was  about,  and  was  simply  steady- 
ing his  team  for  the  turn.  The  event  proved  his 
wisdom,  for  in  the  turn  the  leading  team  left  the 
track,  lost  a  moment  or  two  in  the  deep  snow,  and 
before  they  could  regain  the  road  the  bays  had 
swept  superbly  past,  leaving  their  rivals  to  follow 
in  the  rear.  On  came  the  pintos,  swiftly  nearing 
the  Fort.  Surely  at  that  pace  they  cannot  make  the 
turn.  But  Sandy  knows  his  leaders.  They  have 
their  eyes  upon  the  teams  in  front,  and  need  no 
touch  of  rein.  Without  the  slightest  change  in 
speed  the  nimble-footed  bronchos  round  the  turn, 
hauling  the  big  roans  after  them,  and  fall  in  behind 
the  citizens'  team,  which  is  regaining  steadily  the 
grpund  lost  in  the  turn. 

And  now  the  struggle  is  for  the  bridge  over  the 
ravine.    The  bays  in  front,  running  with  mouths 


$2  Black  Rock 

wide  open,  are  evidently  doing  their  best;  behind 
them,  and  every  moment  nearing  them,  but  at  the 
limit  of  their  speed  too,  come  the  lighter  and  fleeter 
citizens'  team;  v^hile  opposite  their  driver  are  the 
pintos,  pulling  hard,  eager  and  fresh.  Their  temper 
is  too  uncertain  to  send  them  to  the  front ;  they  run 
well  following,  but  when  leading  cannot  be  trusted, 
and  besides,  a  broncho  hates  a  bridge;  so  Sandy 
holds  them  where  they  are,  waiting  and  hoping  for 
his  chance  after  the  bridge  is  crossed.  Foot  by 
foot  the  citizens'  team  creep  up  upon  the  flank  of 
the  bays,  with  the  pintos  in  turn  hugging  them 
closely,  till  it  seems  as  if  the  three,  if  none  slackens, 
must  strike  the  bridge  together;  and  this  will  mean 
destruction  to  one  at  least.  This  danger  Sandy  per- 
ceives, but  he  dare  not  check  his  leaders.  Sud- 
denly, within  a  few  yards  of  the  bridge,  Baptiste 
throws  himself  upon  the  lines,  wrenches  them  out 
of  Sandy's  hands,  and,  with  a  quick  swing,  faces 
the  pintos  down  the  steep  side  of  the  ravine,  which 
is  almost  sheer  ice  with  a  thin  coat  of  snow.  It  is 
a  daring  course  to  take,  for  the  ravine,  though  not 
deep,  is  full  of  undergrowth,  and  is  partially  closed 
up  by  a  brush  heap  at  the  further  end.  But,  with  a 
yell,  Baptiste  hurls  his  four  horses  down  the  slope, 
and  into  the  undergrowth.     'Allons,  mes  enfantsi 


The  Black  Rock  Christmas  53 

Courage!  vite,  vitel'  cries  their  driver,  and  nobly 
do  the  pintos  respond.  Regardless  of  bushes  and 
brush  heaps,  they  tear  their  way  through;  but,  as 
they  emerge,  the  hind  bob-sleigh  catches  a  root, 
and,  with  a  crash,  the  sleigh  is  hurled  high  in  the 
air.  Baptiste's  cries  ring  out  high  and  shrill  as  ever, 
encouraging  his  team,  and  never  cease  till,  with  a 
plunge  and  a  scramble,  they  clear  the  brush  heap 
lying  at  the  mouth  of  th?  ravine,  and  are  out  on  the 
ice  on  the  river,  with  Baptiste  standing  on  the  front 
bob,  the  box  trailing  behind,  and  Sandy  nowhere 
to  be  seen. 

Three  hundred  yards  of  the  course  remain.  The 
bays,  perfectly  handled,  have  gained  at  the  bridge 
and  in  the  descent  to  the  ice,  and  are  leading  the 
citizens'  team  by  half  a  dozen  sleigh  lengths.  Be- 
hind both  comes  Baptiste.  It  is  now  or  never  for 
the  pintos.  The  rattle  of  the  trailing  box,  together 
with  the  wild  yelling  of  the  crowd  rushing  down 
the  bank,  excites  the  bronchos  to  madness,  and, 
taking  the  bits  in  their  teeth,  they  do  their  first  free 
running  that  day.  Past  the  citizens'  team  like  a 
whirlwind  they  dash,  clear  the  intervening  space, 
and  gain  the  flanks  of  the  bays.  Can  the  bays  hold 
them?  Over  them  leans  their  driver,  plying  for 
the  first  time  the  hissing  lash.    Only  fi^ty  yards 


54  Black  Rock 

more.  The  miners  begin  to  yell.  But  Baptiste, 
waving  his  lines  high  in  one  hand,  seizes  his  tuque 
with  the  other,  whirls  it  about  his  head  and  flings  it 
with  a  fiercer  yell  than  ever  at  the  bronchos.  Like 
the  bursting  of  a  hurricane  the  pintos  leap  forward, 
and  with  a  splendid  rush  cross  the  scratch,  winners 
by  their  own  length. 

There  was  a  wild  quarter  of  an  hour.  The  shan- 
tymen  had  torn  off  their  coats  and  were  waving 
them  wildly  and  tossing  them  high,  while  the 
ranchers  added  to  the  uproar  by  emptying  their 
revolvers  into  the  air  in  a  way  that  made  one 
nervous. 

When  the  crowd  was  somewhat  quieted  Sandy's 
stiff  figure  appeared,  slowly  making  toward  them. 
A  dozen  lumbermen  ran  to  him,  eagerly  inquiring 
if  he  were  hurt.  But  Sandy  could  only  curse  the 
little  Frenchman  for  losing  the  race. 

'Lost!  Why,  man,  we've  won  it!'  shouted  a 
voice,  at  which  Sandy's  rage  vanished,  and  he  al- 
lowed himself  to  be  carried  in  upon  the  shoulders 
of  his  admirers. 

*  Where's  the  lad  ? '  was  his  first  question. 

*  The  bronchos  are  off  with  him.  He's  down  at 
the  rapids  like  enough.' 

'Let  me  go,'  shouted  Sandy,  setting  off  at  a  run 


The  Black  Rock  Christmas  55 

in  the  track  of  the  sleigh.  He  had  not  gone  far  be- 
fore he  met  Baptiste  coming  back  with  his  team 
foaming,  the  roans  going  quietly,  but  the  bronchos 
dancing,  and  eager  to  be  at  it  again. 

'Voila!  bully  boy!  tank  the  bon  Dieu,  Sandy; 
you  not  keel,  heh  ?  Ah !  you  are  one  grand 
chevalier,'  exclaimed  Baptiste,  hauling  Sandy  in 
and  thrusting  the  lines  into  his  hands.  And  so 
they  cams  back,  the  sleigh  box  still  dragging  be- 
hind, the  pintos  executing  fantastic  figures  on  their 
hind  legs,  and  Sandy  holding  them  down.  The 
little  Frenchman  struck  a  dramatic  attitude  and 
called  out  — 

'  Voila  \  Vv  hat's  the  matter  wiz  Sandy,  heh  ? ' 
The  roar  that  answered  set  the  bronchos  off  again 
plunging  and  kicking,  and  only  when  Baptiste  got 
them  by  the  heads  could  they  be  induced  to  stand 
long  enough  to  allow  Sandy  to  be  proclaimed  win- 
ner of  the  race.  Several  of  the  lumbermen  sprang 
into  the  sleigh  box  with  Sandy  and  Baptiste,  among 
them  Keefe,  followed  by  Nelson,  and  the  first  part 
of  the  great  day  was  over.  Slavin  could  not  under- 
stand the  new  order  of  things.  That  a  great  event 
like  the  four-horse  race  should  not  be  followed  by 
'  drinks  all  round '  was  to  him  at  once  disgusting 
and  incomprehensible;  and,  realising  his  defeat  for 


56  Black  Rock 

the  moment,  he  fell  into  the  crowd  and  disappeared. 
But  he  left  behind  him  his  '  runners/  He  had  not 
yet  thrown  up  the  game. 

Mr.  Craig  meantime  came  to  me,  and,  looking 
anxiously  after  Sandy  in  his  sleigh,  with  his  frantic 
crowd  of  yelling  admirers,  said  in  a  gloomy  voice, 
'Poor  Sandy!  He  is  easily  caught,  and  Keefe  has 
the  devil's  cunning.' 

'He  won't  touch  Slavin's  whisky  to-day,'  I  an- 
swered confidently. 

'There'll  be  twenty  bottles  waiting  him  in  the 
stable,'  he  replied  bitterly,  '  and  I  can't  go  follow- 
ing him  up.' 

'  He  won't  stand  that,  no  man  would.  God  help 
us  all.'  I  could  hardly  recognise  myself,  for  I 
found  in  my  heart  an  earnest  echo  to  that  prayer  as 
I  watched  him  go  toward  the  crowd  again,  his  face 
set  in  strong  determination.  He  looked  like  the 
captain  of  a  forlorn  hope,  and  I  was  proud  to  be 
following  him. 


Waterloo 
Our  Fight— His  Victory 


9r 


CHAPTER  III 

WATERLOO.      OUR  FIGHT — HIS  VICTORY 

The  sports  were  over,  and  there  remained  still  an 
hour  to  be  filled  in  before  dinner.  It  was  an  hour 
full  of  danger  to  Craig's  hopes  of  victory,  for  the 
men  were  wild  with  excitement,  and  ready  for  the 
most  reckless  means  of  'slinging  their  dust.'  I 
could  not  but  admire  the  skill  with  which  Mr.  Craig 
caught  their  attention. 

'Gentlemen,'  he  called  out,  'we've  forgotten 
the  judge  of  the  great  race.  Three  cheers  for  Mr. 
Connor! ' 

Two  of  the  shantymen  picked  me  up  and  hoisted 
me  on  their  shoulders  while  the  cheers  were  given. 

'Announce  the  Punch  and  Judy,'  he  entreated 
me,  in  a  low  voice.  I  did  so  in  a  little  speech,  and 
was  forthwith  borne  aloft,  through  the  street  to  the 
booth,  followed  by  the  whole  crowd,  cheering  like 
mad. 

The  excitement  of  the  crowd  caught  me,  and  for 
an  hour  I  squeaked  and  worked  the  wires  of  the  im- 
mortal and  unhappy  family  in  a  manner  hitherto 

59 


6o  Black  Rock 

unapproached  by  me  at  least.  I  was  glad  enough 
when  Graeme  came  to  tell  me  to  send  the  men  in  to 
dinner.  This  Mr.  Punch  did  in  the  most  gracious 
manner,  and  again  with  cheers  for  Punch's  master 
they  trooped  tumultuously  into  the  tent. 

We  had  only  well  begun  when  Baptiste  came  in 
quietly  but  hurriedly  and  whispered  to  me  — 

'  M'sieu  Craig,  he's  gone  to  Slavin's,  and  would 
lak  you  and  M'sieu  Graeme  would  follow  queek. 
Sandy  he's  take  one  leel  drink  up  at  de  stable,  and 
he's  go  mad  lak  one  diable.' 

I  sent  him  for  Graeme,  who  was  presiding  at 
dinner,  and  set  off  for  Slavin's  at  a  run.  There  I 
found  Mr.  Craig  and  Nelson  holding  Sandy,  more 
than  half  drunk,  back  from  Slavin,  who,  stripped 
to  the  shirt,  was  coolly  waiting  with  a  taunting 
smile. 

'  Let  me  go,  Mr.  Craig,'  Sandy  was  saying,  '  I 
am  a  good  Presbyterian.  He  is  a  Papist  thief;  and 
he  has  my  money;  and  I  will  have  it  out  of  the  soul 
of  him.' 

'Let  him  go,  preacher,'  sneered  Slavin,  'I'll  cool 
him  off  for  yez.  But  ye'd  better  hold  him  if  yez 
wants  his  mug  left  on  to  him.' 

' Let  him  go! '  Keefe  was  shouting. 

'  Hands  off! '  Blaney  was  echoing. 


Waterloo.     Our  Fight — His  Victory     6i 

I  pushed  my  way  in.     '  What's  up  ?'  I  cried. 

'Mr.  Connor,'  said  Sandy  solemnly,  'it  is  a 
gentleman  you  are,  though  your  name  is  against 
you,  and  1  am  a  good  Presbyterian,  and  I  can  give 
you  the  Commandments  and  Reasons  annexed  to 
them;  but  yon's  a  thief,  a  Papist  thief,  and  I  am 
justified  in  getting  my  money  out  of  his  soul.' 

•But,'  I  remonstrated,  'you  won't  get  it  in  this 
way.' 

'  He  has  my  money,'  reiterated  Sandy. 

'  He  is  a  blank  liar,  and  he's  afraid  to  take  it  up,' 
said  Slavin,  in  a  low,  cool  tone. 

With  a  roar  Sandy  broke  away  and  rushed  at 
him;  but,  without  moving  from  his  tracks,  Slavin 
met  him  with  a  straight  left-hander  and  laid  him  flat. 

*  Hooray,'  yelled  Blaney,  '  Ireland  forever! ' 
and,  seizing  the  iron  poker,  swung  it  around  his 
head,  crying,  '  Back,  or,  by  the  holy  Moses,  I'W 
kill  the  first  man  that  interferes  wid  the  game.' 

'  Give  it  to  him ! '  Keefe  said  savagely. 

Sandy  rose  slowly,  gazing  round  stupidly. 

'He  don't  know  what  hit  him,'  laughed  Keefe. 

This  roused  the  Highlander,  and  saying,  *  I'll 
settle  you  afterward,  Mister  Keefe,'  he  rushed  in 
again  at  Slavin.  Again  Slavin  met  him  again  with 
his  left,   staggered  him,  and,  before  he  fell,  took 


6a  Black  Rock 

a  step  forward  and  delivered  a  terrific  right-hand 
blow  on  his  jaw.  Poor  Sandy  went  down  in  a 
heap  amid  the  yells  of  Blaney,  Keefe,  and  some; 
others  of  the  gang.  I  was  in  despair  when  in  came 
Baptiste  and  Graeme. 

One  look  at  Sandy,  and  Baptiste  tore  off  his  coat 
and  cap,  slammed  them  on  the  floor,  danced  on 
them,  and  with  a  long-drawn  '  sap-rr-r-rie,' 
rushed  at  Slavin.  But  Graeme  caught  him  by  the 
back  of  the  neck,  saying,  '  Hold  on,  little  man,* 
and  turning  to  Slavin,  pointed  to  Sandy,  who  was 
reviving  under  Nelson's  care,  and  said,  'What's 
this  for?' 

'  Ask  him,'  said  Slavin  insolently.     *  He  knows.' 

•  What  is  it.  Nelson  ? ' 

Nelson  explained  that  Sandy,  after  drinking  some 
at  the  stable  and  a  glass  at  the  Black  Rock  Hotel, 
had  come  down  here  with  Keefe  and  the  others, 
had  lost  his  money,  and  was  accusing  Slavin  of 
robbing  him. 

'  Did  you  furnish  him  with  liquor  ? '  said  Graeme 
sternly. 

'It  is  none  of  your  business,'  replied  Slavin,  with 
an  oath. 

'  I  shall  make  it  my  business.  It  is  not  the  first 
time  my  men  have  lost  money  in  this  saloon.' 


Waterloo.     Our  Fight — His  Victory     63 

'You  lie,'  said  Slavin,  with  deliberate  emphasis. 

'Slavin,'  said  Graeme  quietly,  'it's  a  pity  you 
said  that,  because,  unless  you  apologise  in  one 
minute,  I  shall  make  you  sorry.' 

'  Apologise  ?  *  roared  Slavin,  '  apologise  to  you  ? ' 
calling  him  a  vile  name. 

Graeme  grew  white,  and  said  even  more  slowly, 
*>low  you'll  have  to  take  it;  no  apology  will  do.' 

He  slowly  stripped  off  coat  and  vest  Mr.  Craig 
interposed,  begging  Graeme  to  let  the  matter  pass. 
'Surely  he  is  not  worth  it' 

'Mr.  Craig,'  said  Graeme,  with  an  easy  smile, 
'  you  don't  understand.  No  man  can  call  me  that 
name  and  walk  around  afterward  feeling  well.' 

Then,  turning  to  Slavin,  he  said,  *  Now,  if  you 
want  a  minute's  rest,  1  can  wait.' 

Slavin,  with  a  curse,  bade  him  come. 

'Blaney,'  said  Graeme  sharply,  'you  get  back.' 
Blaney  promptly  stepped  back  to  Keefe's  side. 
'Nelson,  you  and  Baptiste  can  see  that  they  stay 
there.'  The  old  man  nodded  and  looked  at  Craig, 
who  simply  said,  '  Do  the  best  you  can.' 

It  was  a  good  fight.  Slavin  had  plenty  of  pluck, 
and  for  a  time  forced  the  fighting,  Graeme  guarding 
easily  and  tapping  him  aggravatingly  about  the  nose 
and  eyes,  drawing  blood,  but  not  disabling  him. 


64  Black  Rock 

Gradually  there  came  a  look  of  fear  into  Slavin's 
eyes,  and  the  beads  stood  upon  his  face.  He  had 
met  his  master. 

'Now,  Slavin,  you're  beginning  to  be  sorry;  and 
now  I  am  going  to  show  you  what  you  are  made 
of.'  Graeme  made  one  or  two  lightning  passes, 
struck  Slavin  one,  two,  three  terrific  blows,  and  laid 
him  quite  flat  and  senseless.  Keefe  and  Blaney  both 
sprang  forward,  but  there  was  a  savage  kind  of 
growl. 

'Hold,  there!'  It  was  old  man  Nelson  looking 
along  a  pistol  barrel.  'You  know  me,  Keefe,'  he 
said.     'You  won't  do  any  murder  this  time.' 

Keefe  turned  green  and  yellow,  and  staggered 
back,  while  Slavin  slowly  rose  to  his  feet. 

'  Will  you  take  some  more  ? '  said  Graeme. 
'  You  haven't  got  much ;  but  mind  1  have  stopped 
playing  with  you.  Put  up  your  gun.  Nelson.  No 
one  will  interfere  now.* 

Slavin  hesitated,  then  rushed,  but  Graeme  stepped 
to  meet  him,  and  we  saw  Slavin's  heels  in  the  air  as 
he  fell  back  upon  his  neck  and  shoulders  and  lay 
still,  with  his  toes  quivering. 

'Bon I'  yelled  Baptiste.  'Bully  boy!  Dat's  de 
bon  stuff.  Dat's  lam  him  one  good  lesson.'  But 
immediately  he  shrieked,  '  Gar-r-r-r-e  k  vousi' 


Waterloo.     Our  Fight — His  Victory     65 

He  was  too  late,  for  there  was  a  crash  of  breaking 
glass,  and  Graeme  fell  to  the  floor  with  a  long  deep 
cut  on  the  side  of  his  head.  Keefe  had  hurled  a  bot- 
tle with  all  too  sure  an  aim,  and  had  fled.  I  thought 
he  was  dead ;  but  we  carried  him  out,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  he  groaned,  opened  his  eyes,  and  sank 
again  into  insensibility. 

*  Where  can  we  take  him  ? '  I  cried. 
'To  my  shack,'  said  Mr.  Craig. 

*  Is  there  no  place  nearer  ? ' 

'Yes;  Mrs.  Mayor's.    I  shall  run  on  to  tell  her/ 

She  met  us  at  the  door.  I  had  in  mind  to  say 
some  words  of  apology,  but  when  1  looked  upon 
her  face  I  forgot  my  words,  forgot  my  business  at 
her  door,  and  stood  simply  looking. 

'Come  in!  Bring  him  in!  Please  do  not  wait,' 
she  said,  and  her  voice  was  sweet  and  soft  and 
firm. 

We  laid  him  in  a  large  room  at  the  back  of  the 
shop  over  which  Mrs.  Mavor  lived.  Together  we 
dressed  the  wound,  her  firm  white  fingers,  skillful 
as  if  with  long  training.  Before  the  dressing  was 
finished  I  sent  Craig  off,  for  the  time  had  come  for 
the  Magic  Lantern  in  the  church,  and  I  knew  how 
critical  the  moment  was  in  our  fight.  'Go,'  I  said; 
'he  is  coming  to,  and  we  do  not  need  you.' 


66  Black  Rock 

In  a  few  moments  more  Graeme  revived,  and, 
gazing  about,  asked,  'What's  all  this  about?'  and 
then,  recollecting,  'Ah!  that  brute  Keefe;'  then  seeing 
my  anxious  face  he  said  carelessly,  'Awful  bore-, 
ain't  It?    Sorry  to  trouble  you,  old  fellow.' 

*You  be  hanged!'  I  said  shortly;  for  his  old 
sweet  smile  was  playing  about  his  lips,  and 
was  almost  too  much  for  me.  'Mrs.  Mavor  and 
I  are  in  command,  and  you  must  keep  perfectly 
stiU.' 

'  Mrs.  Mavor  ? '  he  said,  in  surprise.  She  came 
forward,  with  a  slight  flush  on  her  face. 

'I  think  you  know  me,  Mr.  Graeme.' 

'I  have  often  seen  you,  and  wished  to  know 
you.     I  am  sorry  to  bring  you  this  trouble.' 

'You  must  not  say  so,'  she  replied,  'but  let  me 
do  all  for  you  that  I  can.  And  now  the  doctor 
says  you  are  to  lie  still.' 

'The  doctor?  Oh!  you  mean  Connor.  He  is 
hardly  there  yet.  You  don't  know  each  other. 
Permit  me  to  present  Mr.  Connor,  Mrs.  Mavor.' 

As  she  bowed  slightly,  her  eyes  looked  into  mine 
with  serious  gaze,  not  inquiring,  yet  searching  my 
soul.  As  I  looked  into  her  eyes  I  forgot  everything 
about  me,  and  when  I  recalled  myself  it  seemed  as 
if  I  had  been  away  in  some  far  place.     It  was  not 


Waterloo.     Our  Fight — His  Victory     67 

their  colour  or  their  brightness ;  I  do  not  yet  know 
their  colour,  and  I  have  often  looked  into  them ;  and 
they  were  not  bright ;  but  they  were  clear,  and  one 
could  look  far  down  into  them,  and  in  their  depths 
see  a  glowing,  steady  light.  As  1  went  to  get  some 
drugs  from  the  Black  Rock  doctor,  1  found  myself 
wondering  about  that  far-down  light;  and  about 
her  voice,  how  it  could  get  that  sound  from  far 
avv^ay. 

I  found  the  doctor  quite  drunk,  as  indeed  Mr. 
Craig  had  warned;  but  his  drugs  were  good,  and  I 
got  what  I  wanted  and  quickly  returned. 

While  Graeme  slept  Mrs.  Mavor  made  me  tea. 
As  the  evening  wore  on  I  told  her  the  events  of  the 
day,  dwelling  admiringly  upon  Craig's  generalship. 
She  smiled  at  this. 

'He  got  me  too,'  she  said,  'Nixon  was  sent 
to  me  just  before  the  sports;  and  1  don't  think  he 
will  break  down  to-day,  and  1  am  so  thankful.' 
And  her  eyes  glowed. 

'I  am  quite  sure  he  won't,'  I  thought  to  myself, 
but  I  said  no  word. 

After  a  long  pause,  she  went  on,  '  1  have  prom- 
ised Mr.  Craig  to  sing  to-night,  if  I  am  needed!' 
and  then,  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  'It  is  two 
years  since  I  h'ave  been  able  to  sing — two  years/ 


68  Black  Rock 

she  repeated,  'since' — and  then  her  brave  voice 
trembled — 'my  husband  was  killed.' 

'I  quite  understand,'  I  said,  having  no  other 
word  on  my  tongue, 

'And,'  she  went  on  quietly,  '1  fear  I  have  been 
selfish.  It  is  hard  to  sing  the  same  songs.  We 
were  very  happy.  But  the  miners  like  to  hear  me 
sing,  and  I  think  perhaps  it  helps  them  to  feel  less 
lonely,  and  keeps  them  from  evil.  I  shall  try  to- 
night, if  I  am  needed.  Mr.  Craig  will  not  ask  me 
unless  he  must.' 

I  would  have  seen  every  miner  and  lumberman 
in  the  place  hideously  drunk  before  I  would  have 
asked  her  to  sing  one  song  while  her  heart  ached. 
I  wondered  at  Craig,  and  said,  rather  angrily  — 

'He  thinks  only  of  those  wretched  miners  and 
shanty  men  of  his.' 

She  looked  at  me  with  wonder  in  her  eyes,  and 
said  gently,  '  And  are  they  not  Christ's  too  ? ' 

And  I  found  no  word  to  reply. 

It  was  nearing  ten  o'clock,  and  I  was  wonder- 
ing how  the  fight  was  going,  and  hoping  that 
Mrs.  Mavor  would  not  be  needed,  when  the  door 
opened,  and  old  man  Nelson  and  Sandy,  the  latter 
much  battered  and  ashamed,  came  in  with  the 
word  for  Mrs.  Mavor. 


Waterloo.     Our  Fight — His  Victory     69 

'I  will  come,'  she  said  simply.  She  saw  me 
preparing  to  accompany  her,  and  asked,  'Do  you 
think  you  can  leave  him  ?' 

'  He  will  do  quite  well  in  Nelson's  care.' 

'Then  I  am  glad;  for  I  must  take  my  little  one 
with  me.  I  did  not  put  her  to  bed  in  case  I  should 
need  to  go,  and  I  may  not  leave  her.' 

We  entered  the  church  by  the  back  door,  and 
saw  at  once  that  even  yet  the  battle  might  easily 
be  lost. 

Some  miners  had  just  come  from  Slavin's,  evi- 
dently bent  on  breaking  up  the  meeting,  in  revenge 
for  the  collapse  of  the  dance,  which  Slavin  was  un- 
able to  enjoy,  much  less  direct.  Craig  was  gal- 
lantly holding  his  ground,  finding  it  hard  work  to 
keep  his  men  in  good  humour,  and  so  prevent  a 
fight,  for  there  were  cries  of  'Put  him  outl  Put 
the  beast  outl*  at  a  miner  half  drunk  and  wholly 
outrageous. 

The  look  of  relief  that  came  over  his  face  when 
Craig  caught  sight  of  us  told  how  anxious  he  had 
been,  and  reconciled  me  to  Mrs.  Mavor's  singing. 
'Thank  the  good  God,'  he  said,  with  what  came 
near  being  a  sob,  '  1  was  about  to  despair.' 

He  immediately  walked  to  the  front  and  called 
out  — 


70  Black  Rock 

'Gentlemen,  if  you  wish  it,  Mrs.  Mavor  will 
sing.' 

There  was  a  dead  silence.  Some  one  began  to 
applaud,  but  a  miner  said  savagely,  'Stop  that, 
you  fool!' 

There  was  a  few  moments'  delay,  when  from 
the  crowd  a  voice  called  out,  'Does  Mrs.  Mavor 
wish  to  sing?'  followed  by  cries  of  'Ay,  that's 
it'  Then  Shaw,  the  foreman  at  the  mines,  stood 
up  in  the  audience  and  said  — 

'  Mr.  Craig  and  gentlemen,  you  know  that  three 
years  ago  I  was  known  as  "Old  Ricketts,"  and  that 
I  owe  all  I  am  to-night,  under  God,  to  Mrs.  Mavor^ 
and' — and  with  a  little  quiver  in  his  voice — 'her 
baby.  And  we  all  know  that  for  two  years  she  has 
not  sung;  and  we  all  know  why.  And  what  I  say 
is,  that  if  she  does  not  feel  like  singing  to-night,  she 
is  not  going  to  sing  to  keep  any  drunken  brute  of 
Slavin's  crowd  quiet.' 

There  were  deep  growls  of  approval  all  over  the 
church.  I  could  have  hugged  Shaw  then  and  there. 
Mr.  Craig  went  to  Mrs.  Mavor,  and  after  a  word 
with  her  came  back  and  said  — 

*Mrs.  Mavor  wishes  me  to  fhank  her  dear 
friend  Mr.  Shaw,  but  says  she  would  like  to 
«ng.* 


Waterloo.     Our  Fight — His  Victory     71 

The  response  was  perfect  stillness.  Mr.  Craig 
sat  down  to  the  organ  and  played  the  opening 
bars  of  the  touching  melody,  '  Oft  in  the  Stilly 
Night.'  Mrs.  Mavor  came  to  the  front,  and,  with 
a  smile  of  exquisite  sweetness  upon  her  sad  face, 
and  looking  straight  at  us  with  her  glorious  eyes, 
began  to  sing. 

Her  voice,  a  rich  soprano,  even  and  true,  rose  and 
fell,  now  soft,  now  strong,  but  always  filling  the 
building,  pouring  around  us  floods  of  music.  I  had 
heard  Patti's  'Home,  sweet  Home,'  and  of  all  sing- 
ing that  alone  affected  me  as  did  this. 

At  the  end  of  the  first  verse  the  few  women  in  the 
church  and  some  men  were  weeping  quietly;  but 
when  she  began  the  words  — 

•  When  I  remember  all 
The  friends  once  linked  together,' 

sobs  came  on  every  side  from  these  tender-hearted 
fellows,  and  Shaw  quite  lost  his  grip.  But  she  sang 
steadily  on,  the  tone  clearer  and  sweeter  and  fuller 
at  every  note,  and  when  the  sound  of  her  voice  died 
away,  she  stood  looking  at  the  men  as  if  in  wonder 
that  they  should  weep.  No  one  moved.  Mr.  Craig 
played  softly  on,  and,  wandering  through  many 
variations,  arrived  at  last  at 

« Jesus,  lover  of  my  souL' 


^^  Black  Rock 

As  she  sang  the  appealing  words,  her  face  wag 
lifted  up,  and  she  saw  none  of  us;  but  she  must 
have  seen  some  one,  for  the  cry  in  her  voice  could 
only  come  from  one  who  could  see  and  feel  help 
close  at  hand.  On  and  on  went  the  glorious  voice, 
searching  my  soul's  depths ;  but  when  she  came  to 
the  words  — 

'Thou,  O  Christ,  art  aU  I  want,' 

she  stretched  up  her  arms — she  had  quite  for- 
gotten us,  her  voice  had  borne  her  to  other  worlds 
— and  sang  with  such  a  passion  of  abandon  that 
my  soul  was  ready  to  surrender  anything,  every- 
thing. 

Again  Mr.  Craig  wandered  on  through  his  chang- 
ing chords  till  again  he  came  to  familiar  ground,  and 
the  voice  began,  in  low,  thrilling  tones,  Bernard's 
■great  song  of  home  — 

« Jerusalem  the  golden.* 

Every  word,  with  all  its  weight  of  meaning,  came 
winging  to  our  souls,  till  we  found  ourselves  gazing 
afar  into  those  stately  halls  of  Zion,  with  their  day- 
light serene  and  their  jubilant  throngs.  When  the 
singer  came  to  the  last  verse  there  was  a  pause. 
Again  Mr.  Craig  softly  played  the  interlude,  but  still 
there  was  no  voice.     1  looked  up.    She  was  very 


Waterloo.     Our  Fight — His  Victory     73 

white,  and  her  eyes  were  glowing  with  their  deep 
light.  Mr.  Craig  looked  quickly  about,  saw  her, 
stopped,  and  half  rose,  as  if  to  go  to  her,  when,  in 
a  voice  that  seemed  to  come  from  a  far-off  land,  she 
went  on  — 

« O  sweet  and  blessed  countryf 

The  longing,  the  yearning,  in  the  second  'O* 
were  indescribable.  Again  and  again,  as  she  held 
that  word,  and  then  dropped  down  with  the 
cadence  in  the  music,  my  heart  ached  for  I  knew 
not  what. 

The  audience  were  sitting  as  in  a  trance.  The 
grimy  faces  of  the  miners,  for  they  never  get  quite 
white,  were  furrowed  with  the  tear-courses.  Shaw, 
by  this  time,  had  his  face  too  lifted  high,  his  eyes 
gazing  far  above  the  singer's  head,  and  I  knew  by 
the  rapture  in  his  face  that  he  was  seeing,  as  she 
saw,  the  thronging  stately  halls  and  the  white- 
robed  conquerors.  He  had  felt,  and  was  still  feel- 
ing, all  the  stress  of  the  fight,  and  to  him  the  vision 
of  the  conquerors  in  their  glory  was  soul-drawing 
and  soul-stirring.  And  Nixon,  too — he  had  his 
vision ;  but  what  he  saw  was  the  face  of  the  singer, 
with  the  shining  eyes,  and,  by  the  look  of  him,  that 
was  vision  enough. 


74  Black  Rock 

Immediately  after  her  last  note  Mrs.  Mavor 
stretched  out  her  hands  to  her  little  girl,  who  was 
sitting  on  my  knee,  caught  her  up,  and,  holding  her 
close  to  her  breast,  walked  quickly  behind  the  cur- 
tain. Not  a  sound  followed-  the  singing  :  no  one 
moved  till  she  had  disappeared;  and  then  Mr.  Craig 
came  to  the  front,  and,  motioning  to  me  to  follow 
Mrs.  Mavor,  began  in  a  low,  distinct  voice  — 

'Gentlemen,  it  was  not  easy  for  Mrs.  Mavor  to 
sing  for  us,  and  you  know  she  sang  because  she  is 
a  miner's  wife,  and  her  heart  is  with  the  miners. 
But  she  sang,  too,  because  her  heart  is  His  who 
came  to  earth  this  day  so  many  years  ago  to  save  us 
all;  and  she  would  make  you  love  Him  too.  For 
in  loving  Him  you  are  saved  from  all  base  loves,  and 
you  know  what  1  mean. 

*  And  before  we  say  good-night,  men,  I  want  to 
know  if  the  time  is  not  come  when  all  of  you  who 
mean  to  be  better  than  you  are  should  join  in  put- 
ting from  us  this  thing  that  has  brought  sorrow  and 
shame  to  us  and  to  those  we  love?  You  know 
what  I  mean.  Some  of  you  are  strong;  will  you 
stand  by  and  see  weaker  men  robbed  of  the  money 
they  save  for  those  far  away,  and  robbed  of  the 
manhood  that  no  money  can  buy  or  restore  ? 

'  Will  the  strong  men  help  ?    Shall  we  all  join 


Waterloo.     Our  Fight — His  Victory     75 

hands  in  this  ?  What  do  you  say  ?  In  this  town 
we  have  often  seen  hell,  and  just  a  moment  ago  we 
were  all  looking  into  heaven,  "the  sweet  and  blessed 
country."  O  men! '  and  his  voice  rang  in  an  agony 
through  the  building — 'O  men!  which  shall  be 
ours  ?  For  Heaven's  dear  sake,  let  us  help  one  an- 
other!   Who  will?' 

I  was  looking  out  through  a  slit  in  the  curtain. 
The  men,  already  wrought  to  intense  feeling  by  the 
music,  were  listening  with  set  faces  and  gleaming 
eyes,  and  as  at  the  appeal  'Who  will?'  Craig 
raised  high  his  hand,  Shaw,  Nixon,  and  a  hundred 
men  sprang  to  their  feet  and  held  high  their  hands. 

I  have  witnessed  some  thrilling  scenes  in  my  life, 
but  never  anything  to  equal  that:  the  one  man  on 
the  platform  standing  at  full  height,  with  his  hand 
thrown  up  to  heaven,  and  the  hundred  men  below 
standing  straight,  with  arms  up  at  full  length,  silent, 
and  almost  motionless. 

For  a  moment  Craig  held  them  so ;  and  again  his 
voice  rang  out,  louder,  sterner  than  before  — 

'All  who  mean  it,  say,  "By  God's  help,  I  will.'** 

And  back  from  a  hundred  throats  came  deep  and 
strong  the  words,  '  By  God's  help,  I  will.' 

At  this  point  Mrs.  Mavor,  whom  I  had  quite  for- 
gotten, put  her  hand  on  my  arm.      'Go  and  tell 


76  Black  Rock 

him,'  she  panted,  'I  want  them  to  come  on  Thurs- 
day night,  as  they  used  to  in  the  other  days — go — 
quick,'  and  she  almost  pushed  me  out.  I  gave 
Craig  her  message.  He  held  up  his  hand  for  si- 
lence. 

*  Mrs.  Mavor  wishes  me  to  say  that  she  will  be 
glad  to  see  you  all,  as  in  the  old  days,  on  Thursday 
evening;  and  I  can  think  of  no  better  place  to  give 
formal  expression  to  our  pledge  of  this  night.' 

There  was  a  shout  of  acceptance;  and  then,  at 
some  one's  call,  the  long  pent-up  feelings  of  the 
crowd  found  vent  in  three  mighty  cheers  for  Mrs. 
Mavor. 

'Now  for  our  old  hymn,'  called  out  Mr.  Craig, 
'and  Mrs.  Mavor  will  lead  us.' 

He  sat  down  at  the  organ,  played  a  few  bars  of 
'The  Sweet  By  and  By,'  and  then  Mrs.  Mavor  be- 
gan. But  not  a  soul  joined  till  the  refrain  was 
reached,  and  then  they  sang  as  only  men  with  their 
hearts  on  lire  can  sing.  But  after  the  last  refrain 
Mr.  Craig  made  a  sign  to  Mrs.  Mavor,  and  she  sang 
alone,  slowly  and  softly,  and  with  eyes  looking  far 
away — 

*  In  the  sweet  by  and  by. 

We  shall  meet  on  that  beautiful  shore.' 

There  was  no  benediction — there  seemed  no  need: 


Waterloo.     Our  Fight — His  Victory     77 

and  the  men  went  quietly  out.  But  over  and  over 
again  the  voice  kept  singing  in  my  ears  and  in  my 
heart,  *We  shall  meet  on  that  beautiful  shore.' 
And  after  the  sleigh-loads  of'  men  had  gone  and  left 
the  street  empty,  as  I  stood  with  Craig  in  the  radi- 
ant moonlight  that  made  the  great  mountains  about 
come  near  us,  from  Sandy's  sleigh  we  heard  in  the 
distance  Baptiste's  French-English  song;  but  the 
song  that  floated  down  with  the  sound  of  the  bells 
from  the  miners'  sleigh  was  — 

<  We  shall  meet  on  that  beantifiil  shore.' 

'  Poor  old  Shaw ! "  said  Craig  softly. 

When  the  last  sound  had  died  away  I  turned  to 
him  and  said  — 

'  You  have  won  your  fight.' 

'We  have  won  our  fight;  I  was  beaten,'  he  re- 
plied quickly,  offering  me  his  hand.  Then,  taking 
off  his  cap,  and  looking  up  beyond  the  mountain- 
tops  and  the  silent  stars,  he  added  softly,  'Our 
fight,  but  His  victory.' 

And,  thinking  it  all  over,  I  could  not  say  but  per- 
haps he  was  right 


Mrs.  Mayor's  Story 


CHAPTER  IV 

MRS.    mayor's  story 

The  days  that  followed  the  Black  Rock  Christmas 
were  anxious  days  and  weary,  but  not  for  the 
brightest  of  my  life  would  I  change  them  now ;  for, 
as  after  the  burning  heat  or  rocking  storm  the  dying 
day  lies  beautiful  in  the  tender  glow  of  the  evening, 
so  these  days  have  lost  their  weariness  and  lie 
bathed  in  a  misty  glory.  The  years  that  bring  us 
many  ills,  and  that  pass  so  stormfuUy  over  us,  bear 
away  with  them  the  ugliness,  the  weariness,  the 
pain  that  are  theirs,  but  the  beauty,  the  sweetness, 
the  rest  they  leave  untouched,  for  these  are  eternal. 
As  the  mountains,  that  near  at  hand  stand  jagged 
and  scarred,  in  the  far  distance  repose  in  their  soft 
robes  of  purple  haze,  so  the  rough  present  fades 
into  the  past,  soft  and  sweet  and  beautiful. 

I  have  set  myself  to  recall  the  pain  and  anxiety 
of  those  days  and  nights  when  we  waited  in  fear 
for  the  turn  of  the  fever,  but  I  can  only  think  of  the 
patience  and  gentleness  and  courage  of  her  who 
stood  beside  me,  bearing  more  than  half  my  burden, 

8l 


82  Black  Rock 

And  while  I  can  see  the  face  of  Leslie  Graeme, 
ghastly  or  flushed,  and  hear  his  low  moaning  or  the 
broken  words  of  his  delirium,  I  think  chiefly  of  the 
bright  face  bending  over  him,  and  of  the  cool,  firm, 
swift-moving  hands  that  soothed  and  smoothed  and 
rested,  and  the  voice,  like  the  soft  song  of  a  bird 
in  the  twilight,  that  never  failed  to  bring  peace. 

Mrs.  Mavor  and  I  were  much  together  during 
those  days.  I  made  my  home  in  Mr.  Craig's  shack, 
but  most  of  my  time  was  spent  beside  my  friend. 
We  did  not  see  much  of  Craig,  for  he  was  heart- 
deep  with  the  miners,  laying  plans  for  the  making 
of  the  League  the  following  Thursday ;  and  though 
he  shared  our  anxiety  and  was  ever  ready  to  relieve 
us,  his  thought  and  his  talk  had  mostly  to  do  with 
the  League. 

Mrs.  Mavor's  evenings  were  given  to  the  miners, 
but  her  afternoons  mostly  to  Graeme  and  to  me, 
and  then  it  was  I  saw  another  side  of  her  character. 
We  would  sit  in  her  little  dining-room,  where  the 
pictures  on  the  walls,  the  quaint  old  silver,  and  bits 
of  curiously  cut  glass,  all  spoke  of  other  and  differ- 
ent days,  and  thence  we  would  roam  the  world  of 
literature  and  art.  Keenly  sensitive  to  all  the  good 
and  beautiful  in  these,  she  had  her  favorites  among 
the  masters,  for  whom  she  was  ready  to  do  battle; 


Mrs.  Mayor's  Story  83 

and  when  her  argument,  instinct .  with  fancy  and 
vivid  imagination,  failed,  she  swept  away  all  oppos- 
ing opinion  with  the  swift  rush  of  her  enthusiasm ; 
so  that,  though  1  felt  she  was  beaten,  I  was  left 
without  words  to  reply.  Shakespeare  and  Tenny- 
son and  Burns  she  loved,  but  not  Shelley,  nor  Byron 
nor  even  Wordsworth.  Browning  she  knew  not, 
and  therefore  could  not  rank  him  with  her  noblest 
three;  but  when  I  read  to  her  'A  Death  in  the  Des- 
ert,' and  came  to  the  noble  words  at  the  end  of  the 
tale— 

•  For  all  was  as  I  say,  and  now  the  man 
Lies  as  he  once  lay,  breast  to  breast  with  God,' 

the  light  shone  in  her  eyes,  and  she  said,  '  Oh,  that 
is  good  and  great;  1  shall  get  much  out  of  him;  I 
had  always  feared  he  was  impossible.'  And  'Par- 
acelsus,' too,  stirred  her;  but  when  I  recited  the 
thrilling  fragment,  'Prospice,'  on  to  that  closing 
rapturous  cry  — 

« Then  a  light,  then  thy  breast, 
O  thou  soul  of  my  soul !     I  shall  clasp  thee  again. 
And  with  God  be  the  rest ! '  — 

the  red  colour  faded  from  her  cheek,  hei*  breath  came 
in  a  sob,  and  she  rose  quickly  and  passed  out  with- 
out a  word.     Ever  after,  Browning  was  among  her 


84  Black  Rock 

gods.  But  when  we  talked  of  music,  she,  adoring 
Wagner,  soared  upon  the  wings  of  the  mighty 
Tannhauser,  far  above,  into  regions  unicnown,  leav- 
ing me  to  walk  soberly  with  Beethoven  and  Men- 
delssohn. Yet  with  all  our  free,  frank  talk,  there 
was  all  the  while  that  in  her  gentle  courtesy  which 
kept  me  from  venturing  into  any  chamber  of  her  life 
whose  door  she  did  not  set  freely  open  to  me.  So 
I  vexed  myself  about  her,  and  when  Mr.  Craig  re- 
turned the  next  week  from  the  Landing  where  he 
had  been  for  some  days,  my  first  question  was  — 

'Who  is  Mrs.  Mavor?  And  how  in  the  name  of 
all  that  is  wonderful  and  unlikely  does  she  come  t« 
be  here  ?    And  why  does  she  stay  ? ' 

He  would  not  answer  then ;  whether  it  was  that 
his  mind  was  full  of  the  coming  struggle,  or 
whether  he  shrank  from  the  tale,  I  know  not;  but 
that  night,  when  we  sat  together  beside  his  fire,  he 
told  me  the  story,  while  I  smoked.  He  was  worn 
with  his  long,  hard  drive,  and  with  the  burden  of 
his  work,  but  as  he  went  on  with  his  tale,  looking 
into  the  fire  as  he  told  it,  he  forgot  all  his  present 
weariness  and  lived  again  the  scenes  he  painted  for 
me.    This  was  his  story :  — 

'1  remember  well  my  first  sight  of  her,  as  she 
sprang  from  the  front  seat  of  the  stage  to  the 


Mrs.  Mayor's  Story  85 

ground,  hardly  touching  her  husband's  hand.  She 
looked  a  mere  girl.  Let's  see — five  years  ago — she 
couldn't  have  been  a  day  over  twenty-three.  She 
looked  barely  twenty.  Her  swift  glance  swept  over 
the  group  of  miners  at  the  hotel  door,  and  then 
rested  on  the  mountains  standing  in  all  their  autumn 
glory. 

'1  was  proud  of  our  mountains  that  evening. 
Turning  to  her  husband,  she  exclaimed:  "O  Lewis, 
are  they  not  grand?  and  lovely,  too?"  Every 
miner  lost  his  heart  then  and  there,  but  all  waited 
for  Abe  the  driver  to  give  his  verdict  before  ventur- 
ing an  opinion.  Abe  said  nothing  until  he  had 
taken  a  preliminary  drink,  and  then,  calling  all 
hands  to  fill  up,  he  lifted  his  glass  high,  and  said 
solemnly  — 

' "  Boys,  here's  to  her." 

*  Like  a  flash  every  glass  was  emptied,  and  Abe 
called  out,  "  Fill  her  up  again,  boys  !    My  treat! " 

*He  was  evidently  quite  worked  up.  Then  he 
began,  with  solemn  emphasis  — 

'"Boys,  you  hear  me!    She's  a  No.  1,  triple  X, 

the  pure  quill  with  a  bead  on  it:  she's  a ,"  and  for 

the  first  time  in  his  Black  Rock  history  Abe  was 
stuck  for  a  word.     Some  one  suggested  "  angel." 

'"Angel!"  repeated  Abe,  with  infinite  contempt. 


86  Black  Rock 

"Angel  be  blowed"  (I  paraphrase  here);  "angels 
ain't  in  the  same  month  with  her;  I'd  like  to  see  any 
blanked  angel  swing  my  team  around  them  curves 
.without  a  shiver." 

•  "  Held  the  lines  herself,  Abe  ?  "  asked  a  miner. 

*  "That's  what,"  said  Abe;  and  then  he  went  ofiF 
into  a  fusillade  of  scientific  profanity,  expressive  of 
his  esteem  for  the  girl  who  had  swung  his  team 
round  the  curves ;  and  the  miners  nodded  to  each 
other,  and  winked  their  entire  approval  of  Abe's 
performance,  for  this  was  his  specialty. 

'  Very  decent  fellow,  Abe,  but  his  talk  wouldn't 
print' 

Here  Craig  paused,  as  if  balancing  Abe's  virtues ' 
and  vices. 

'Well,'  I  urged,  'who  is  she?' 

•Oh  yes,'  he  said,  recalling  himself;  'she  is  an 
Edinburgh  young  lady — met  Lewis  Mavor,  a  young 
Scotch-Englishman,  in  London — wealthy,  good 
family,  and  all  that,  but  fast,  and  going  to  pieces 
at  home.  His  people,  who  own  large  shares  in 
these  mines  here,  as  a  last  resort  sent  him  out 
here  to  reform.  Curiously  innocent  ideas  those 
old  country  people  have  of  the  reforming  properties 
of  this  atmosphere!  They  send  their  young  bloods 
here  to  reform.     Here!  in  this  devil's  camp-ground. 


Mrs.  Mayor's  Story  87 

where  a  man's  lust  is  his  only  law,  and  whert,  from 
sheer  monotony,  a  man  must  betake  himself  to  the 
only  excitement  of  the  place — that  offered  by  the 
saloon.  Good  people  in  the  east  hold  up  holy 
hands  of  horror  at  these  godless  miners;  but  I  tell 
you  it's  asking  these  boys  a  good  deal  to  keep 
straight  and  clean  in  a  place  like  this.  I  take  my  ex- 
citement in  fighting  the  devil  and  doing  my  work 
generally,  and  that  gives  me  enough;  but  these 
poor  chaps — hard  worked,  homeless,  with  no  break 
or  change — God  help  them  and  me! '  and  his  voice 
sank  low. 
'Well,'  I  persisted,  *did  Mavor  reform?' 
Again  he  roused  himself.  '  Reform  ?  Not  ex- 
actly. In  six  months  he  had  broken  through  all  re- 
straint; and,  mind  you,  not  the  miners'  fault — not  a 
miner  helped  him  down.  It  was  a  sight  to  make 
angels  weep,  when  Mrs.  Mavor  would  come  to  the 
saloon  door  for  her  husband.  Every  miner  would 
vanish;  they  could  not  look  upon  her  shame,  and 
they  would  send  Mavor  forth  in  the  charge  of  Billy 
Breen,  a  queer  little  chap,  who  had  belonged  to  the 
Mavors  in  some  way  in  the  old  country,  and  be- 
tween them  they  would  get  him  home.  How  she 
stood  it  puzzles  me  to  this  day ;  but  she  never  made 
any  sign,  and  her  courage  never  failed.     It  was  al- 


88  Black  Rock 

ways  a  bright,  brave,  proud  face  she  held  up  to  the 
world — except  in  church ;  there  it  was  different.  1 
used  to  preach  my  sermons,  I  believe,  mostly  for 
her — ^but  never  so  that  she  could  suspect — as  bravely 
and  as  cheerily  as  I  could.  And  as  she  listened, 
and  especially  as  she  sang — how  she  used  to  sing  in 
those  days! — there  was  no  touch  of  pride  in  her 
face,  though  the  courage  never  died  out,  but  appeal, 
appeal!  I  could  have  cursed  aloud  the  cause  of  her 
misery,  or  wept  for  the  pity  of  it.  Before  her  baby 
was  born  he  seemed  to  pull  himself  together,  for  he 
was  quite  mad  about  her,  and  from  the  day  the 
baby  came — talk  about  miracles ! — from  that  day  he 
never  drank  a  drop.  She  gave  the  baby  over  to 
him,  and  the  baby  simply  absorbed  him. 

'He  was  a  new  man.  He  could  not  drink 
whisky  and  kiss  his  baby.  And  the  miners — it 
was  really  absurd  if  it  were  not  so  pathetic.  It 
was  the  first  baby  in  Black  Rock,  and  they  used 
to  crowd  Mavor's  shop  and  peep  into  the  room 
at  the  back  of  it — I  forgot  to  tell  you  that  when  he 
lost  his  position  as  manager  he  opened  a  hardware 
shop,  for  his  people  chucked  him,  and  he  was  too 
proud  to  write  home  for  money — just  for  a  chance 
to  be  asked  in  to  see  the  baby.  I  came  upon  Nixon 
standing  at  the  back  of  the  shop  after  he  had  seen 


Mrs.  Mayor's  Story  89 

the  baby  for  the  first  time,  sobbing  hard,  and  to 
my  question  he  replied:  "It's  just  like  my  own." 
You  can't  understand  this.  But  to  men  who  have 
lived  so  long  in  the  mountains  that  they  have  for- 
gotten what  a  baby  looks  like,  who  have  had  ex- 
perience of  humanity  only  in  its  roughest,  foulest 
form,  this  little  mite,  sweet  and  clean,  was  like  an 
angel  fresh  from  heaven,  the  one  link  in  all  that 
black  camp  that  bound  them  to  what  was  purest 
and  best  in  their  past. 

'And  to  see  the  mother  and  her  baby  handle 
the  miners! 

'Oh,  it  was  all  beautiful  beyond  words!  I  shall 
never  forget  the  shock  1  got  one  night  when  I 
found  * '  Old  Ricketts  "  nursing  the  baby.  A  drunken 
old  beast  he  was;  but  there  he  was  sitting,  sober 
enough,  making  extraordinary  faces  at  the  baby, 
who  was  grabbing  at  his  nose  and  whiskers  and 
cooing  in 'blissful  delight.  Poor  "Old  Ricketts" 
looked  as  if  he  had  been  caught  stealing,  and  mut- 
tering something  about  having  to  go,  gazed  wildly 
round  for  some  place  in  which  to  lay  the  baby, 
when  in  came  the  mother,  saying  in  her  own  sweet, 
frank  way:  "O  Mr.  Ricketts"  (she  didn't  find  out 
till  afterward  his  name  was  Shaw),  "would  you 
mind  keeping  her  just  a  little  longer  N— I  shall  be 


9®  Black  Rock 

back  in  a  few  minutes."  And  "Old  Ricketts" 
guessed  he  could  wait. 

'But  in  six  months  mother  and  baby,  between 
them,  transformed  "Old  Ricketts"  into  Mr.  Shaw, 
fire- boss  of  the  mines.  And  then  in  the  evenings, 
when  she  would  be  singing  her  baby  to  sleep,  the 
little  shop  would  be  full  of  miners,  listening  in 
de«d  silence  to  the  baby-songs,  and  the  English 
songs,  and  the  Scotch  songs  she  poured  forth  with- 
out stint,  for  she  sang  more  for  them  than  for  her 
baby.  No  wonder  they  adored  her.  She  was  so 
bright,  so  gay,  she  brought  light  with  her  when  she 
went  into  the  camp,  into  the  pits — for  she  went  down 
to  see  the  men  work — or  into  a  sick  miner's  shack; 
and  many  a  man,  lonely  and  sick  for  home  or  wife, 
or  baby  or  mother,  found  in  that  back  room  cheer 
and  comfort  and  courage,  and  to  many  a  poor 
broken  wretch  that  room  became,  as  one  miner  put 
it,  "the  anteroom  to  heaven."' 

Mr.  Craig  paused,  and  I  waited.  Then  he  went 
on  slowly — 

*For  a  year  and  a  half  that  was  the  happiest 
home  in  all  the  world,  till  one  day ' 

He  put  his  face  in  his  hands,  and  shuddered. 

*  I  don't  think  I  can  ever  forget  the  awful  horror 
of  that  bright  fall  afternoon,  when  "Old  Ricketts " 


Mrs.  Mavofs  Story  91 

came  breathless  to  me  and  gasped,  "  Come!  for  the 
dear  Lord's  sake,"  and  I  rushed  after  him.  At  the 
mouth  of  the  shaft  lay  three  men  dead.  One  was 
Lewis  Mavor.  He  had  gone  down  to  superintend 
the  running  of  a  new  drift;  the  two  men,  half 
drunk  with  Slavin's  whisky,  set  off  a  shot  prema- 
turely, to  their  own  and  Mavor's  destruction.  They 
were  badly  burned,  but  his  face  was  untouched.  A 
miner  was  sponging  off  the  bloody  froth  oozing 
from  his  lips.  The  others  were  standing  about 
waiting  for  me  to  speak.  But  I  could  find  no 
word,  for  my  heart  was  sick,  thinking,  as  they 
were,  of  the  young  mother  and  her  baby  waiting  at 
home.  So  I  stood,  looking  stupidly  from  one  to 
the  other,  trying  to  find  some  reason — coward  that 
I  was — why  another  should  bear  the  news  rather 
than  L  And  while  we  stood  there,  looking  at  one 
another  in  fear,  there  broke  upon  us  the  sound  of  a 
voice  mounting  high  above  the  birch  tops,  sing- 
ing— 

*  «•  Will  ye  no'  come  back  again  ? 
Will  ye  no'  come  back  again  ? 
Better  lo'ed  ye  canna  be, 
Will  ye  no'  come  back  again  ?  " 

*A  Strange  terror  seized  us.     Instinctively  the 
men  closed  up  in  front  of  the  body,  and  stood  in 


92  Black  Rock 

silence.    Nearer  and  nearer  came  the  clear,  sweet 
voice,  ringing  like  a  silver  bell  up  the  steep  — 

• "  Sweet  the  lav'rock's  note  and  lang, 
Liltin'  wildly  up  the  glen, 
But  aye  tae  me  he  sings  ae  sang, 
Will  ye  no'  come  back  again  ?  " 

'Before  the  verse  was  finished  "Old  Ricketts"* 
had  dropped  on  his  knees,  sobbing  out  brokenly, 
"O  God!  O  God!  have  pity,  have  pity,  have 
pity!" — and  every  man  took  off  his  hat.  And  still 
the  voice  came  nearer,  singing  so  brightly  the  re- 
frain, 

^ "  Will  ye  no'  come  back  again  ?  " 

Mt  became  unbearable.  "Old  Ricketts  "  sprang 
suddenly  to  his  feet,  and,  gripping  me  by  the  arm, 
said  piteously,  "Oh,  go  to  her!  for  Heaven's  sake, 
go  to  her!  "  I  next  remember  standing  in  her  path 
and  seeing  her  holding  out  her  hands  full  of  red 
lilies,  crying  out,  "Are  they  not  lovely?  Lewis  is 
so  fond  of  them ! "  With  the  promise  of  much  finer 
ones  I  turned  her  down  a  path  toward  the  river, 
talking  I  know  not  what  follyf  till  her  great  eyes 
grew  grave,  then  anxious,  and  my  tongue  stam- 
mered and  became  silent.  Then,  laying  her  hand 
upon  my  arnj,  she  said  with  gentle  sweetness,  "  Tell 


Mrs.  Mayor's  Story  93 

me  your  trouble,  Mr.  Craig,"  and  I  knew  my  agony 
had  come,  and  I  burst  out,  "Oh,  if  it  were  only 
mine!  "  She  turned  quite  white,  and  with  her  deep 
eyes — you've  noticed  her  eyes — drawing  the  truth 
out  of  mine,  she  said,  "  Is  it  mine,  Mr.  Craig,  and 
my  baby's  ?  "  I  waited,  thinking  with  what  words 
to  begin.  She  put  one  hand  to  her  heart,  and  with 
the  other  caught  a  little  poplar-tree  that  shivered 
under  her  grasp,  and  said  with  white  lips,  but  even 
more  gently,  "  Tell  me."  I  wondered  at  my  voice 
being  so  steady  as  I  said,  "Mrs.  Mavor,  God  will 
help  you  and  your  baby.  There  has  been  an  ac- 
cident— and  it  is  all  over." 

'  She  was  a  miner's  wife,  and  there  was  no  need 
for  more.  I  could  see  the  pattern  of  the  sunlight 
falling  through  the  trees  upon  the  grass.  I  could 
hear  the  murmur  of  the  river,  and  the  cry  of  the 
cat-bird  in  the  bushes,  but  we  seemed  to  be  in  a 
strange  and  unreal  world.  Suddenly  she  stretched 
out  her  hands  to  me,  and  with  a  little  moan  said, 
"Take  me  to  him." 

'  "Sit  down  for  a  moment  or  two,'  I  entreated. 

'"No,  no!  I  am  quite  ready.  See,'  she  added 
quietly,  "I  am  quite  strong." 

'I  set  otT  by  a  short  cut  leading  to  her  home, 
hoping  the  men  would  be  there  before  us;  but. 


94  Black  Rock 

passing  me,  she  walked  swiftly  through  the  trees, 
and  I  followed  in  fear.  As  we  came  near  the  main 
path  I  heard  the  sound  of  feet,  and  I  tried  to  stop 
her,  but  she,  too,  had  heard  and  knew.  "Oh,  let 
me  go!"  she  said  piteously;  "you  need  not  fear." 
And  I  had  not  the  heart  to  stop  her.  In  a  little 
opening  among  the  pines  we  met  the  bearers. 
When  the  men  saw  her,  they  laid  their  burden 
gently  down  upon  the  carpet  of  yellow  pine- 
needles,  and  then,  for  they  had  the  hearts  of  true 
men  in  them,  they  went  away  into  the  bushes  and 
left  her  alone  with  her  dead.  She  went  swiftly  to  his 
side,  making  no  cry,  but  kneeling  beside  him  she 
stroked  his  face  and  hands,  and  touched  his  curls  with 
her  fingers,  murmuring  all  the  time  soft  words  of 
love.  "O  my  darling,  my  bonnie,  bonnie  darling, 
speak  to  me!  Will  ye  not  speak  to  me  just  one 
little  word  ?  O  my  love,  my  love,  my  heart's  love! 
Listen,  my  darling!"  And  she  put  her  lips  to  his 
ear,  whispering,  and  then  the  awful  stillness. 
Suddenly  she  lifted  her  head  and  scanned  his  face, 
and  then,  glancing  round  with  a  wild  surprise  in 
her  eyes,  she  cried,  "  He  will  not  speak  to  me!  Oh, 
he  will  not  speak  to  me!"  I  signed  to  the  men, 
and  as  they  came  forward  I  went  to  her  and  took 
her  hands. 


,    ,  Mrs.  Mayor's  Story  95 

•"Oh,"  she  said,  with  a  wail  in  her  voice;  "he 
will  not  speak  to  me."  The  men  were  sobbing 
aloud.  She  looked  at  them  with  wide-open  eyes 
of  wonder.  "Why  are  they  weeping?  Will  he 
never  speak  to  me  again  ?  Tell  me,"  she  insisted 
gently.  The  words  were  running  through  my 
head — 

• "  There's  a  land  that  is  fairer  than  day," 

and  I  said  them  over  to  her,  holding  her  hands 
firmly  in  mine.  She  gazed  at  me  as  if  in  a  dream, 
and  the  light  slowly  faded  from  her  eyes  as  she 
said,  tearing  her  hands  from  mine  and  waving  them 
toward  the  mountains  and  the  woods  — 
'  "  But  never  more  here  ?  Never  more  here  ?  " 
*  I  believe  in  heaven  and  the  other  life,  but  I  con- 
fess that  for  a  moment  it  all  seemed  shadowy 
beside  the  reality  of  this  warm,  bright  world,  full 
of  life  and  love.  She  was  very  ill  for  two  nights, 
and  when  the  coffm  was  closed  a  new  baby  lay  in 
the  father's  arms. 

'  She  slowly  came  back  to  life,  but  there  were  no 
more  songs.  The  miners  still  come  about  her  shop, 
and  talk  to  her  baby,  and  bring  her  their  sorrows 
and  troubles ;  but  though  she  is  always  gentle,  al- 
most tender,  with  them,  no  man  ever  says  "Sing." 


gS  Black  Rock 

And  that  is  why  I  am  glad  she  sang  last  week;  it 
•will  he  good  for  her  and  good  for  them.' 

'  Why  does  she  stay  ? '  1  asked. 

'Mayor's  people  wanted  her  to  go  to  them,'  he 
replied. 

'They  have  money — she  told  me  about  it,  but 
her  heart  is  in  the  grave  up  there  under  the  pines ; 
and  besides,  she  hopes  to  do  something  for  the 
miners,  and  she  will  not  leave  them.' 

I  am  afraid  I  snorted  a  little  impatiently  as  1  said, 
'Nonsense!  why,  with  her  face,  and  manner,  and 
voice*  she  could  be  anything  she  liked  in  Edinburgh 
or  in  London. ' 

*And  why  Edinburgh  or  London?'  he  asked 
coolly. 

•Why?'  I  repeated  a  little  hotly.  'You  think 
this  is  better  ? ' 

'Nazareth  was  good  enough  for  the  Lord  of 
glory,'  he  answered,  with  a  smile  none  too  bright; 
but  it  drew  my  heart  to  him,  and  my  heat  was 
gone. 

'  How  long  will  she  stay  ? '  I  asked. 

'Till  her  work  is  done,'  he  replied. 

'  And  when  will  that  be  ? '  I  asked  impatiently. 

'When  God  chooses,'  he  answered  gravely; 
'and   don't   you  ever  think  but  that  it  is  worth 


Mrs.  Mayor's  Story  97 

while.  One  value  of  work  is  not  that  crowds  stare 
at  it.    Read  history,  man ! ' 

He  rose  abruptly  and  began  to  walk  about. 
'And  don't  miss  the  whole  meaning  of  the  Life 
that  lies  at  the  foundation  of  your  religion.  Yes,' 
he  added  to  himself,  '  the  work  is  worth  doing — 
worth  even  her  doing.' 

I  could  not  think  so  then,  but  the  light  of  the 
after  years  proved  him  wiser  than  I.  A  man,  to 
see  far,  must  climb  to  some  height,  and  I  was  too 
much  upon  the  plain  in  those  days  to  catch  even  a 
glimpse  of  distant  sunlit  uplands  of  triumphant 
achievement  that  lie  beyond  the  valley  of  self-sacri- 
fice. 


The  Making  of  the  League 


^^ 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  MAKING  OF  THE   LEAGUE 

Thursday  morning  found  Craig  anxious,  even 
gloomy,  but  with  fight  in  every  line  of  his  face.  I 
tried  to  cheer  him  in  my  clumsy  way  by  chaffing 
him  about  his  League.  But  he  did  not  blaze  up  as 
he  often  did.  It  was  a  thing  too  near  his  heart  for 
that.  He  only  shrank  a  little  from  my  stupid  chaff 
and  said  — 

'Don't,  old  chap;  this  is  a  good  deal  to  me. 
I've  tried  for  two  years  to  get  this,  and  if  it  falls 
through  now,  I  shall  find  it  hard  to  bear.' 

Then  I  repented  my  light  words  and  said,  '  Whyl 
the  thing  will  go  sure  enough :  after  that  scene  in 
the  church  they  won't  go  back.' 

'Poor  fellows!'  he  said  as  if  to  himself; 
'whisky  is  about  the  only  excitement  they  have, 
and  they  find  it  pretty  tough  to  give  it  up ;  and  a 
lot  of  the  men  are  against  the  total  abstinence  idea. 
It  seems  rot  to  them.' 

'  It  is  pretty  steep, '  I  said.  '  Can't  you  do  with- 
out it  ? ' 

lOI 


102  Black  Rock 

'No;  I  fear  not.  There  is  nothing  else  for  it 
Some  of  them  talk  of  compromise.  They  want  to 
quit  the  saloon  and  drink  quietly  in  their  shacks. 
The  moderate  drinker  may  have  his  place  in  other 
countries,  though  I  can't  see  it  I  haven't  thought 
that  out,  but  here  the  only  safe  man  is  the  man  who 
quits  it  dead  and  fights  it  straight;  anything  else  is 
sheerest  humbug  and  nonsense.' 

I  had  not  gone  in  much  for  total  abstinence  up  to 
this  time,  chiefly  because  its  advocates  seemed  for 
the  most  part  to  be  somewhat  ill-balanced ;  but  as  I 
listened  to  Craig,  I  began  to  feel  that  perhaps  there 
was  a  total  abstinence  side  to  the  temperance  ques- 
tion ;  and  as  to  Black  Rock,  I  could  see  how  it  must 
be  one  thing  or  the  other. 

We  found  Mrs.  Mavor  brave  and  bright  She 
shared  Mr.  Craig's  anxiety  but  not  his  gloom.  Her 
courage  was  of  that  serene  kind  that  refuses  to  be- 
lieve defeat  possible,  and  lifts  the  spirit  into  the 
triumph  of  final  victory.  Through  the  past  week 
she  had  been  carefully  disposing  her  forces  and 
winning  recruits.  And  yet  she  never  seemed  to 
urge  or  persuade  the  men;  but  as  evening  after 
evening  the  miners  dropped  into  the  cosy  room 
downstairs,  with  her  talk  and  her  songs  she 
charmed  them  till  they  were  wholly  hers.     She 


The  Making  of  the  League  103 

took  for  granted  their  loyalty,  trusted  them  utterly, 
and  so  made  it  difficult  for  them  to  be  other  than 
true  men. 

That  night  Mrs.  Mavor's  large  storeroom,  which 
had  been  fitted  up  with  seats,  was  crowded  with 
miners  when  Mr.  Craig  and  I  entered. 

After  a  glance  over  the  crowd,  Craig  said, 
'There's  the  manager;  that  means  war.'  And  I 
saw  a  tall  man,  very  fair,  whose  chin  fell  away  to 
the  vanishing  point,  and  whose  hair  was  parted 
in  the  middle,  talking  to  Mrs.  Mavor.  She  was 
dressed  in  some  rich  soft  stuff  that  became  her 
well.  She  was  looking  beautiful  as  ever,  but 
there  was  something  quite  new  in  her  manner. 
Her  air  of  good-fellowship  was  gone,  and  she  was 
the  high-bred  lady,  whose  gentle  dignity  and 
sweet  grace,  while  very  winning,  made  familiarity 
impossible. 

The  manager  was  doing  his  best,  and  appeared 
to  be  well  pleased  with  himself.  '  She'll  get  him  if 
any  one  can.    I  failed,'  said  Craig. 

I  stood  looking  at  the  men,  and  a  fine  lot  of 
fellows  they  were.  Free,  easy,  bold  in  their  bear- 
ing, they  gave  no  sign  of  rudeness ;  and,  from  their 
frequent  glances  toward  Mrs.  Mavor,  I  could  see 
they  were  always  conscious  of  her  presence.    No 


104  Black  Rock 

men  are  so  truly  gentle  as  are  the  Westerners  in  the 
presence  of  a  good  woman.  They  were  evidently 
of  all  classes  and  ranks  originally,  but  now,  and  in 
this  country  of  real  measurements,  they  ranked 
simply  according  to  the  '  man '  in  them.  '  See 
that  handsome  young  chap  of  dissipated  appear- 
ance?' said  Craig;  'that's  Vernon  Winton,  an 
Oxford  graduate,  blue  blood,  awfully  plucky, 
but  quite  gone.  When  he  gets  repentant,  instead 
of  shooting  himself,  he  comes  to  Mrs.  Mavor. 
Fact.' 

'  From  Oxford  University  to  Black  Rock  mining 
camp  is  something  of  a  step,'  I  replied. 

'That  queer-looking  little  chap  in  the  comer  is 
Billy  Breen.  How  in  the  world  has  he  got  here?' 
went  on  Mr.  Craig.  Queer-looking  he  was.  A  little 
man,  with  a  small  head  set  on  heavy  square  shoul- 
ders, long  arms,  and  huge  hands  that  sprawled  all 
over  his  body;  altogether  a  most  ungainly  specimen 
of  humanity. 

By  this  time  Mrs.  Mavor  had  finished  with  the 
manager,  and  was  in  the  centre  of  a  group  of 
miners.  Her  grand  air  was  all  gone,  and  she  was 
their  comrade,  their  friend,  one  of  themselves. 
Nor  did  she  assume  the  rdle  of  entertainer,  but 
rather  did  she,  with  half-shy  afr,  cast  herself  upon 


The  Making  of  the  League  io$ 

ineir  chivalry,  and  they  were  too  truly  gentlemen  ta 
fail  her.  It  is  hard  to  make  Western  men,  and 
especially  old-timers,  talk.  But  this  gift  was  hers, 
and  it  stirred  my  admiration  to  see  her  draw  on  a 
grizzled  veteran  to  tell  how,  twenty  years  ago,  he 
had  crossed  the  Great  Divide,  and  had  seen  and 
done  what  no  longer  fell  to  men  to  see  or  do  in 
these  new  days.  And  so  she  won  the  old-timer. 
But  it  was  beautiful  to  see  the  innocent  guile  with 
Which  she  caught  Billy  Breen,  and  drew  him  to  her 
comer  near  the  organ.  What  she  was  saying  1 
knew  not,  but  poor  Billy  was  protesting,  waving 
his  big  hands. 

The  meeting  came  to  order,  with  Shaw  in  the 
chair,  and  the  handsome  young  Oxford  man  secre- 
tary. Shaw  stated  the  object  of  the  meeting  in  a 
few  halting  words ;  but  when  he  came  to  speak  of 
the  pleasure  he  and  all  felt  in  being  together  in  that 
room,  his  words  flowed  in  a  stream,  warm  and  full. 
Then  there  was  a  pause,  and  Mr.  Craig  was  called. 
But  he  knew  better  than  to  speak  at  that  point. 
Finally  Nixon  rose  hesitatingly;  but,  as  he  caught  a 
bright  smile  from  Mrs.  Mavor,  he  straightened  him- 
self as  if  for  a  fight. 

*I  ain't  no  good  at  makin'  speeches,'  he  began; 
*  but  it  ain't  speeches  we  want.     We've  got  some- 


io6  Black  Rock 

thin'  to  do,  and  what  we  want  to  know  is  how  to 
do  it.  And  to  be  right  plain,  we  want  to  know 
how  to  drive  this  cursed  whisky  out  of  Black 
Rock.  You  all  know  what  it's  doing  for  us — at 
least  for  some  of  us.  And  it's  time  to  stop  it 
now,  or  for  some  of  us  it'll  mighty  soon  be  too 
late.  And  the  only  way  to  stop  its  work  is  to  quit 
drinkin'  it  and  help  others  to  quit.  I  hear  some 
talk  of  a  League,  and  what  I  say  is,  if  it's  a 
League  out  and  out  against  whisky,  a  Total 
Abstinence  right  to  the  ground,  then  I'm  with  it 
— that's  my  talk — I  move  we  make  that  kind  of 
League.' 

Nixon  sat  down  amid  cheers  and  a  chorus  of 
remarks,  '  Good  man ! '  '  That's  the  talk ! ' 
'Stay  with  it!'  but  he  waited  for  the  smile  and 
the  glance  that  came  to  him  from  the  beautiful 
face  in  the  corner,  and  with  that  he  seemed 
content. 

Again  there  was  silence.  Then  the  secretary  rose 
with  a  slight  flush  upon  his  handsome,  delicate  face, 
and  seconded  the  motion.  If  they  would  pardon  a 
personal  reference  he  would  give  them  his  reasons. 
He  had  come  to  this  country  to  make  his  fortune; 
now  he  was  anxious  to  make  enough  to  enable  him 
to  go  home  with  some  degree  of  honour.     His  home 


The  Making  of  the  League  107 

held  everything  that  was  dear  to  him.  Between 
him  and  that  home,  between  him  and  all  that  was 
good  and  beautiful  and  honourable,  stood  whisky. 
'I  am  ashamed  to  confess,'  and  the  flush  deepened 
on  his  cheek,  and  his  lips  grew  thinner,  '  that  I  feel 
the  need  of  some  such  league.'  His  handsome 
face,  his  perfect  style  of  address,  learned  possibly 
in  the  'Union,'  but,  more  than  all,  his  show  of 
nerve — for  these  men  knew  how  to  value  that — 
made  a  strong  impression  on  his  audience;  but 
there  were  no  following  cheers. 

Mr.  Craig  appeared  hopeful;  but  on  Mrs.  Mavor's 
face  there  was  a  look  of  wistful,  tender  pity,  for 
she  knew  how  much  the  words  had  cost  the  lad. 

Then  up  rose  a  sturdy,  hard-featured  man,  with 
a  burr  in  his  voice  that  proclaimed  his  birth.  His 
name  was  George  Crawford,  I  afterward  learned, 
but  every  one  called  him  Geordie.  He  was  a  char- 
acter in  his  way,  fond  of  his  glass ;  but  though  he 
was  never  known  to  refuse  a  drink,  he  was  never 
known  to  be  drunk.  He  took  his  drink,  for  the 
most  part,  with  bread  and  cheese  in  his  own  shack, 
or  with  a  friend  or  two  in  a  sober,  respectable  way, 
but  never  could  be  induced  to  join  the  wild  carous- 
als in  Slavin's  saloon.  He  made  the  highest  wages, 
but  was  far  too  true  a  Scot  to  spend  his  money 


roB  Black  Rock 

recklessly.  Every  one  waited  eagerly  to  hear 
Geordie's  mind.  He  spoke  solemnly,  as  befitted  a 
Scotsman  expressing  a  deliberate  opinion,  and  care- 
fully, as  if  choosing  his  best  English,  for  when 
Geordie  became  excited  no  one  in  Black  Rock  could 
understand  him. 

'Maister  Chairman,'  said  Geordie,  'I'm  aye  for 
temperance  in  a'  things.'  There  was  a  shout  of 
laughter,  at  which  Geordie  gazed  round  in  pained 
surprise.  'I'll  no'  deny,'  he  went  on  in  an  ex- 
planatory tone,  *  that  I  tak  ma  mornin',  an'  maybe 
a  nip  at  noon,  an'  a  wee  drap  aifter  wark  In  the 
evenin',  an'  whiles  a  sip  o'  toddy  wi'  a  freen  thae 
cauld  nichts.  But  I'm  no'  a  guzzler,  an'  I  dinna 
gang  in  wi'  thae  loons  flingin'  aboot  guid  money.' 

•And  that's  thrue  for  you,  me  bye,'  interrupted 
a  rich  Irish  brogue,  to  the  delight  of  the  crowd  and 
the  amazement  of  Geordie,  who  went  calmly  on  — 

'  An'  I  canna  bide  yon  saloon  whaur  they  sell  sic 
awfu'-like  stuff — it's  mair  like  lye  nor  guid  whisky, 
— ^and  whaur  ye're  never  sure  o'  yer  richt  change. 
It's  an  awfu'-like  place;  man! ' — and  Geordie  began 
to  warm  up — '  ye  can  juist  smell  the  sulphur  when 
ye  gang  in.  But  I  dinna  care  aboot  thae  Temper- 
ance Soceeities,  wi'  their  pledges  an'  havers;  an'  I 
canna  see  what  hairm  can  come  till  a  man  by  takin' 


The  Making  of  the  League  109 

a  bottle  0'  guid  Glenlivet  hame  wi'  him.  I  canna 
bide  thae  teetotal  buddies.' 

Geordie's  speech  was  followed  by  loud  applause, 
partly  appreciative  of  Geordie  himself,  but  largely 
sympathetic  with  his  position. 

Two  or  three  men  followed  in  the  same  strain, 
advocating  a  league  for  mutual  improvement  and 
social  purposes,  but  without  the  teetotal  pledge; 
they  were  against  the  saloon,  but  didn't  see  why 
they  should  not  take  a  drink  now  and  then. 

Finally  the  manager  rose  to  support  his  '  friend, 
Mistah — ah — Cwafoad,'  ridiculing  the  idea  of  a 
total  abstinence  pledge  as  fanatical  and  indeed 
'absuad.'  He  was  opposed  to  the  saloon,  and 
would  like  to  see  a  club  formed,  with  a  comfortable 
club-room,  books,  magazines,  pictures,  games,  any- 
thing, *  dontcheknow,  to  make  the  time  pass  pleas- 
antly '  ;  but  it  was  '  absuad  to  ask  men  to  abstain 
fwom  a  pwopah  use  of — aw — nouwishing  dwinks,* 
because  some  men  made  beasts  of  themselves.  He 
concluded  by  offering  $50.00  toward  the  support  of 
such  a  club. 

The  current  of  feeling  was  setting  strongly 
against  the  total  abstinence  idea,  and  Craig's  face 
was  hard  and  his  eyes  gleamed  like  coals.  Then  he 
did  a  bit  of  generalship.     He  proposed  that  since 


no  Black  Rock 

they  had  the  two  plans  clearly  before  them  they 
should  take  a  few  minutes'  intermission  in  which  to 
make  up  their  minds,  and  he  was  sure  they  would 
be  glad  to  have  Mrs.  Mavor  sing.  In  the  interval 
the  men  talked  in  groups,  eagerly,  even  fiercely, 
hampered  seriously  in  the  forceful  expression  of 
their  opinion  by  the  presence  of  Mrs.  Mavor,  who 
glided  from  group  to  group,  dropping  a  word  here 
and  a  smile  there.  She  reminded  me  of  a  general 
riding  along  the  ranks,  bracing  his  men  for  the  com- 
ing battle.  She  paused  beside  Geordie,  spoke  ear- 
nestly for  a  few  moments,  while  Geordie  gazed 
solemnly  at  her,  and  then  she  came  back  to  Billy  in 
the  corner  near  me.  What  she  was  saying  I  could 
not  hear,  but  poor  Billy  was  protesting,  spreading 
his  hands  out  aimlessly  before  him,  but  gazing 
at  her  the  while  in  dumb  admiration.  Then  she 
came  to  me.  'Poor  Billy,  he  was  good  to  my 
husband,'  she  said  softly,  'and  he  has  a  good 
heart.' 

'He's  not  much  to  look  at,'  I  could  not  help 
saying. 

'The  oyster  hides  its  pearl,'  she  answered,  a 
little  reproachfully. 

'The  shell  is  apparent  enough,'  I  replied,  for  the 
mischief  was  in  me. 


The  Making  of  the  League  m 

*Ah  yes,'  she  replied  softly,  'but  it  is  the  pearl 
we  love.' 

I  moved  over  beside  Billy,  whose  eyes  were  fol- 
lowing Mrs.  Mavor  as  she  went  to  speak  to  Mr. 
Craig.  'Well,'  I  said;  'you  all  seem  to  have  a 
high  opinion  of  her.' 

'An  'igh  hopinion,'  he  replied,  in  deep  scorn. 
•An  'igh  hopinion,  you  calls  it.' 

'What  would  you  call  it?'  I  asked,  wishing  to 
draw  him  out.' 

'Oi  don't  call  it  nothink,'  he  replied,  spreading 
out  his  rough  hands. 

'  She  seems  very  nice,'  I  said  indifferently. 

He  drew  his  eyes  away  from  Mrs.  Mavor,  and 
gave  attention  to  me  for  the  first  time. 

'Nice!'  he  repeated  with  fine  contempt;  and 
then  he  added  impressively,  *  Them  as  don't  know 
shouldn't  say  nothink.' 

'You  are  right,'  I  answered  earnestly,  'and  I 
am  quite  of  your  opinion.' 

He  gave  me  a  quick  glance  out  of  his  little,  deep-, 
set,  dark-blue  eyes,  and  opened  his  heart  to  me. 
He  told  me,  in  his  quaint  speech,  how  again  and 
again  she  had  taken  him  in  and  nursed  him,  and 
encouraged  him,  and  sent  him  out  with  a  new 
heart  for  bis  battle,  until,  for  very  shame's  sake 


112  Black  Rock 

at  his  own  miserable  weakness,  he  had  kept  out  of 
her  way  for  many  months,  going  steadily  down. 

'Now,  oi  hain't  got  no  grip;  but  when  she  says 
to  me  to-night,  says  she,  "  Oh,  Billy  " — she  calls  me 
Billy  to  myself  (this  with  a  touch  of  pride) — '  "oh, 
Billy,"  says  she,  "  we  must  'ave  a  total  habstinence 
league  to-night,  and  oi  want  you  to  'elp  I "  and  she 
keeps  a-lookin'  at  me  with  those  heyes  o'  hern  till, 
if  you  believe  me,  sir,'  lowering  his  voice  to  an 
emphatic  whisper,  '  though  oi  knowed  oi  couldn't 
'elp  none,  afore  oi  knowed  oi  promised  'er  oi  would. 
It's  'er  heyes.  When  them  heyes  says  "do,"  hup 
you  steps  and  "does."  ' 

I  remembered  my  first  look  into  her  eyes,  and  I 
could  quite  understand  Billy's  submission.  Just  as 
she  began  to  sing  1  went  over  to  Geordie  and  took 
my  seat  beside  him.  She  began  with  an  English 
slumber  song,  *  Sleep,  Baby,  Sleep ' — one  of  Barry 
Cornwall's,  I  think, — and  then  sang  a  love-song 
with  the  refrain,  '  Love  once  again ' ;  but  no  thrills 
came  to  me,  and  I  began  to  wonder  if  her  spell  over 
me  was  broken.  Geordie,  who  had  been  listening 
somewhat  indifferently,  encouraged  me,  however, 
by  saying,  'She's  just  pittin'  aff  time  with  thae 
feckless  sangs;  man,  there's  nae  grup  till  them.* 
But  when,  after  a  few  minutes'  pause,  she  began 


The  Making  of  the  League  113 

•My  Ain  Fireside,'  Geordie  gave  a  sigh  of  satisfac- 
tion. 'Ay,  that's  somethin'  like,'  and  when  she 
finished  the  first  verse  he  gave  me  a  dig  in  the  ribs 
with  his  elbow  that  took  my  breath  away,  saying 
in  a  whisper,  '  Man,  hear  till  yon,  wull  ye  ? '  And 
again  I  found  the  spell  upon  me.  It  was  not  the 
voice  after  all,  but  the  great  soul  behind  that  thrilled 
and  compelled.  She  was  seeing,  feeling,  living 
what  she  sang,  and  her  voice  showed  us  her  heart. 
The  cosy  fireside,  with  its  bonnie,  blithe  blink, 
where  no  care  could  abide,  but  only  peace  and 
love,  was  vividly  present  to  her,  ana  as  she  sang 
we  saw  it  too.    When  she  came  to  the  last  verse— 

•  When  I  draw  in  my  stool 

On  my  cosy  hearth-stane, 
My  heart  loups  sae  licht 
I  scarce  ken't  for  my  ain,' 

there  was  a  feeling  of  tears  in  the  flowing  song, 
and  we  knew  the  words  had  brought  her  a  picture 
of  the  fireside  that  would  always  seem  empty.  I 
felt  the  tears  in  my  eyes,  and,  wondering  at  my- 
self, 1  cast  a  stealthy  glance  at  the  men  about  me; 
and  I  saw  that  they,  too,  were  looking  through 
their  hearts'  windows  upon  firesides  and  ingle- 
neuks  that  gleamed  from  far. 
And  then  she  sang '  The  Auld  Hoose,'  and  Geordie. 


114  Black  Rock 

giving  me  another  poke,  said,  *  That  s  ma  ain  sang,* 
and  when  I  asked  him  what  he  meant,  he  whispered 
fiercely,  'Wheesht,  man!'  and  I  did,  for  his  face 
looked  dangerous. 

In  a  pause  between  the  verses  1  heard  Geordie 
saying  to  himself,  '  Ay,  I  maun  gie  it  up,  I  doot.' 

'  What  ? '  I  ventured. 

•Naething  ava.'  And  then  he  added  impa- 
tiently, 'Man,  but  ye're  an  inqueesitive  buddie,' 
after  which  I  subsided  into  silence. 

Immediately  upon  the  meeting  being  called  to 
order,  Mr.  Craig  made  his  speech,  and  it  was  a  fine 
bit  of  work.  Beginning  with  a  clear  statement  of 
the  object  in  view,  he  set  in  contrast  the  two  kinds 
of  leagues  proposed.  One,  a  league  of  men  who 
would  take  whisky  in  moderation;  the  other,  a 
league  of  men  who  were  pledged  to  drink  none 
themselves,  and  to  prevent  in  every  honourable  way 
others  from  drinking.  There  was  no  long  argu- 
ment, but  he  spoke  at  white  heat;  and  as  he  ap- 
pealed to  the  men  to  think,  each  not  of  himself 
alone,  but  of  the  others  as  well,  the  yearning,  born 
of  his  long  months  of  desire  and  of  toil,  vibrated  in 
his  voice  and  reached  to  the  heart.  Many  men 
looked  uncomfortable  and  uncertain,  and  even  the 
manager  looked  none  too  cheerful. 


The  Making  of  the  League  115 

At  this  critical  moment  the  crowd  got  a  shock. 
Billy  Breen  shuffled  out  to  the  front,  and,  in  a  voice 
shaking  with  nervousness  and  emotion,  began  to 
speak,  his  large,  coarse  hands  wandering  tremu- 
lously about. 

*0i  hain't  no  bloomin'  temperance  horator,  and 
mayhap  oi  hain't  no  right  to  speak  'ere,  but  oi  got 
somethin'  to  saigh  (say)  and  oi  'm  agoin'  to 
saigh  it. 

'  Parson,  'ee  says  is  it  wisky  or  no  wisky  in  this 
'ere  club  ?  If  ye  hask  me,  wich  (which)  ye  don't, 
then  no  wisky,  says  oi ;  and  if  ye  hask  why  ? — look 
at  me!  Once  oi  could  mine  more  coal  than  hany 
man  in  the  camp;  now  oi  hain't  fit  to  be  a  sorter. 
Once  oi  'ad  some  pride  and  hambition;  now  oi 
'angs  round  awaitin'  for  some  one  to  saigh,  '"Ere, 
Billy,  'ave  summat."  Once  oi  made  good  paigh 
(pay),  and  sent  it  'ome  regular  to  my  poor  old 
mother  Cshe's  in  the  wukus  now,  she  is) ;  oi  hain't 
sent  'er  hany  for  a  year  and  a  'alf.  Once  Billy  was 
a  good  fellow  and  'ad  plenty  0'  friends ;  now  Slavin 
'isself  kicks  un  hout,  'ee  does.  Why?  why?'  His 
voice  rose  to  a  shriek.  'Because  when  Billy  'ad 
money  in  'is  pocket,  hevery  man  in  this  bloomin' 
camp  as  meets  un  at  hevery  corner  says,  "'Ello, 
Billy,  wat'll  ye  'ave  ?  "    And  there's  wisky  at  Slav- 


ii6  Black  Rock 

in's,  and  there's  wisky  in  the  shacks,  and  hevery 
'ohday  and  hevery  Sunday  there's  wisky,  and  w'en 
ye  feel  bad  it's  wisky,  and  w'en  ye  feel  good  it's 
wisky,  and  heverywhere  and  halways  it's  wisky, 
wisky,  wisky !  And  new  ye're  goin'  to  stop  it,  and 
'ow  ?  T'  manager,  'ee  says  picters  and  magazines. 
'Ee  takes  'is  wine  and  'is  beer  like  a  gentleman,  'ee 
does,  and  'ee  don't  'ave  no  use  for  Billy  Breen. 
Billy,  'ce's  a  beast,  and  t'  manager,  'ee  kicks  un 
hout.  But  supposin'  Billy  wants  to  stop  bein'  a 
beast,  and  starts  a-tryin*  to  be  a  man  again,  and 
w'en  'ee  gets  good  an'  dry,  along  comes  some  un 
and  says,  "  'Ello,  Billy,  'ave  a  smile,"  it  hain't  pic- 
ters nor  magazines  'ud  stop  un  then.  Picters  and 
magazines!  Gawd  'elp  the  man  as  hain't  nothin' 
but  picters  and  magazines  to  'elp  un  w'en  'ee's  got 
a  devil  hinside  and  a  devil  houtside  a-shovin'  and 
a-drawin'  of  un  down  to  'ell.  And  that's  w'ere  oj 
'm  a-goin'  straight,  and  yer  bloomin"  League,  wisky 
or  no  wisky,  can't  help  me.  But,'  and  he  lifted  his 
trembling  hands  above  his  head,  'if  ye  stop  the 
wisky  a-flowin'  round  this  camp,  ye'U  stop  some  of 
these  lads  that's  a-f  olio  win'  me  'ard.  Yes,  you! 
and  you!  and  you!'  and  his  voice  rose  to  a  wild 
scream  as  he  shook  a  trembling  finger  at  one  and 
tnother. 


The  Making  of  the  League  117 

*Man,  it's  fair  gruesome  tae  hear  him,'  said 
Geordie;  'he's  no'  canny;'  and  reaching  out  for 
Billy  as  he  went  stumbling  past,  he  pulled  him 
down  to  a  seat  beside  him,  saying,  '  Sit  doon,  lad, 
sit  doon.  We'll  mak  a  man  o'  ye  yet.'  Then  he 
rose  and,  using  many  r's,  said,  '  Maister  Chairman, 
a'  doot  we'll  juist  hae  to  gie  it  up.' 

'  Give  it  up  ? '  called  out  Nixon.  '  Give  up  the 
League  ? ' 

'Na!  na!  lad,  but  juist  the  wee  drap  whusky. 
It's  nae  that  guid  onyway,  and  it's  a  terrible  price. 
Man,  gin  ye  gang  tae  Henderson's  in  Buchanan 
Street,  in  Gleska,  ye  ken,  ye'U  get  mair  for  three- 
an'-saxpence  than  ye  wuli  at  Slavin's  for  five  dol- 
lars. An'  it'll  no'  pit  ye  mad  like  yon  stuff,  but  it 
gangs  doon  smooth  an'  satt-like.  But '  (regretfully) 
'ye'll  no'  can  get  it  here;  an'  a'm  thinkin'  a'll  juist 
sign  yon  teetotal  thing.'  And  up  he  strode  to  the 
table  and  put  his  name  down  in  the  book  Craig  had 
ready.  Then  to  Billy  he  said,  *  Come  awa,  lad !  pit 
yer  name  doon,  an'  we'll  stan'  by  ye.' 

Poor  Billy  looked  around  helplessly,  his  nerve  all 
gone,  and  sat  still.  There  was  a  swift  rustle  of 
garments,  and  Mrs.  Mavor  was  beside  him,  and,  in 
a  voice  that  only  Billy  and  I  could  hear,  said, 
*  You'll  sign  with  me,  Billy  ? ' 


ii8  Biack  Rock 

Billy  gazed  at  her  with  a  hopeless  look  in  his 
eyes,  and  shook  his  little  head.  She  leaned  slightly 
toward  him,  smiling  brightly,  and,  touching  his 
arm  gently,  said  — 

'Come,  Billy,  there's  no  fear,'  and  in  a  lower 
voice,  'God  will  help  you.' 

As  Billy  went  up,  following  Mrs.  Mavor  close,  a 
hush  fell  on  the  men  until  he  had  put  his  name  to 
the  pledge;  then  they  came  up,  man  by  man,  and 
signed.  But  Craig  sat  with  his  head  down  till  I 
touched  his  shoulder.  He  took  my  hand  and  held 
it  fast,  saying  over  and  over,  under  his  breath, 
^ Thank  God,  thank  God!' 

And  so  the  League  was  made. 


Black  Rock  Religion 


119 


CHAPTER  VI 

BLACK  ROCK  RELIGION 

When  I  grow  weary  with  the  conventions  of  re- 
ligion, and  sick  in  my  soul  from  feeding  upon 
husks,  that  the  churches  too  often  offer  me,  in  the 
shape  of  elaborate  service  and  eloquent  discourses, 
so  that  in  my  sickness  1  doubt  and  doubt,  then  I  go 
back  to  the  communion  in  Black  Rock  and  the  days 
preceding  it,  and  the  fever  and  the  weariness  leave 
me,  and  1  grow  humble  and  strong.  The  simplicity 
and  rugged  grandeur  of  the  faith,  the  humble  grati- 
tude of  the  rough  men  1  see  about  the  table,  and 
the  calm  radiance  of  one  saintly  face,  rest  and  re- 
call me. 

Not  its  most  enthusiastic  apologist  would  call 
Black  Rock  a  religious  community,  but  it  possessed 
in  a  marked  degree  that  eminent  Christian  virtue  of 
tolerance.  All  creeds,  all  shades  of  religious  opin- 
ion, were  allowed,  and  it  was  generally  conceded 
that  one  was  as  good  as  another.  It  is  fair  to  say, 
however,  that  Black  Rock's  catholicity  was  negative 
rather  than  positive.  The  only  religion  objection- 
able was  that  insisted  upon  as  a  necessity.     It  never 


122  Black  Rock 

occurred  to  any  one  to  consider  religion  other  than 
as  a  respectable,  if  not  ornamental,  addition  to  life 
in  older  lands. 

During  the  weeks  following  the  making  of  the 
League,  however,  this  negative  attitude  toward 
things  religious  gave  place  to  one  of  keen  investi- 
gation and  criticism. .  The  indifference  passed  away, 
and  with  it,  in  a  large  measure,  the  tolerance.  Mr. 
Craig  was  responsible  for  the  former  of  these 
changes,  but  hardly,  in  fairness,  could  he  be  held 
responsible  for  the  latter.  If  any  one,  more  than 
another,  was  to  be  blamed  for  the  rise  of  intoler- 
ance in  the  village,  that  man  was  Geordie  Craw- 
ford. He  had  his  '  lines '  from  the  Established  Kirk 
of  Scotland,  and  when  Mr.  Craig  announced  his  in- 
tention of  having  the  Sacrament  of  the  Lord's  Sup- 
per observed,  Geordie  produced  his  '  lines '  and 
promptly  handed  them  in.  As  no  other  man  in  the 
village  was  equipped  with  like  spiritual  credentials, 
Geordie  constituted  himself  a  kind  of  kirk-session, 
charged  with  the  double  duty  of  guarding  the  en- 
trance to  the  Lord's  Table,  and  of  keeping  an  eye 
upon  the  theological  opinions  of  the  community, 
and  more  particularly  upon  such  members  of  it  as 
gave  evidence  of  possessing  any  opinions  definite 
enough  for  statement. 


Black  Rock   Religion  123 

It  came  to  be  Mr.  Craig's  habit  to  drop  into  the 
League-room,  and  toward  the  close  of  the  evening 
to  have  a  short  Scripture  lesson  from  the  Gospels. 
Geordie's  opportunity  came  after  the  meeting  was 
over  and  Mr.  Craig  had  gone  away.  The  men 
would  hang  about  and  talk  the  lesson  over,  ex- 
pressing opinions  favourable  or  unfavourable  as  ap- 
peared to  them  good.  Then  it  was  that  all  sorts  of 
views,  religious  and  otherwise,  were  aired  and  ex- 
amined. The  originality  of  the  ideas,  the  absolute 
disregard  of  the  authority  of  church  or  creed,  the 
frankness  with  which  opinions  were  stated,  and  the 
forcefulness  of  the  language  in  which  they  were  ex- 
pressed, combined  to  make  the  discussions  altogether 
marvellous.  The  passage  between  Abe  Baker,  the 
stage-driver,  and  Geordie  was  particularly  rich.  It 
followed  upon  a  very  telling  lesson  on  the  parable 
of  the  Pharisee  and  the  Publican. 

The  chief  actors  in  that  wonderful  story  were 
transferred  to  the  Black  Rock  stage,  and  were  pre- 
sented in  miner's  costume.  Abe  was  particularly 
well  pleased  with  the  scoring  of  the  '  blanked  old 
rooster  who  crowed  so  blanked  high,'  and  some- 
what incensed  at  the  quiet  remark  interjected  by 
Geordie,  '  that  it  was  nae  credit  till  a  man  tae  be  a 
sinner';   and  when  Geordie  went  on  to  urge  the 


124  Black  Rock 

importance  of  right  conduct  and  respectability,  Abe 
was  led  to  pour  forth  vials  of  contemptuous  wrath 
upon  the  Pharisees  and  hypocrites  who  thought 
themselves  better  than  other  people.  But  Geordie 
was  quite  unruffled,  and  lamented  the  ignorance  of 
men  who,  brought  up  in  '  Epeescopawlyun  or 
Methody'  churches,  could  hardly  be  expected  to 
detect  the  Antinomian  or  Arminian  heresies. 

'Aunty  Nomyun  or  Uncle  Nomyun,'  replied 
Abe,  boiling  hot,  'my  mother  was  a  Methodist, 
and  I'll  back  any  blanked  Methodist  against  any 
blankety  blank  long-faced,  lantern-jawed,  skinflint 
Presbyterian,'  and  this  he  was  eager  to  maintain  to 
any  man's  satisfaction  if  he  would  step  outside. 

Geordie  was  quite  unmoved,  but  hastened  to 
assure  Abe  that  he  meant  no  disrespect  to  his 
mother,  who  he  had  '  nae  doot  was  a  clever  enough 
buddie,  tae  judge  by  her  son.'  Abe  was  speedily 
appeased,  and  offered  to  set  up  the  drinks  all  round. 
But  Geordie,  with  evident  reluctance,  had  to  de- 
cline, saying,  'Na,  na,  lad,  I'm  a  League  man,  ye 
ken,'  and  I  was  sure  that  Geordie  at  that  moment 
felt  that  membership  in  the  League  had  its  draw- 
backs. 

Nor  was  Geordie  too  sure  of  Craig's  orthodoxy; 
while  as  to  Mrs.  Mavor,  whose  slave  he  was,  he 


Black  Rock  Religion  125 

was  in  the  habit,  of  lamenting  her  doctrinal  condi- 
tion— 

'She's  a  fine  wumman,  nae  doot;  but,  puit 
cratur,  she's  fair  carried  awa  wi'  the  errors  o'  thae 
Epeescopawiyuns.' 

It  fell  to  Geordie,  therefore,  as  a  sacred  duty,  m 
view  of  the  laxity  of  those  who  seemed  to  be  the 
pillars  of  the  Church,  to  be  all  the  more  watchful 
and  unyielding.  But  he  was  delightfully  incon- 
sistent when  confronted  with  particulars.  In  con- 
versation with  him  one  night  after  one  of  the  meet- 
ings, when  he  had  been  specially  hard  upon  the 
ignorant  and  godless,  I  innocently  changed  the  sub- 
ject to  Billy  Breen,  whom  Geordie  had  taken  to  his 
shack  since  the  night  of  the  League.  He  was  very 
proud  of  Billy's  success  in  the  fight  against  whisky, 
the  credit  of  which  he  divided  unevenly  between 
Mrs.  Mavor  and  himself. 

'He's  fair  daft  aboot  her,'  he  explained  to  me, 
'  an'  I'll  no'  deny  but  she's  a  great  help,  ay,  a  verra 
conseederable  asseestance;  but,  man,  she  doesna 
ken  the  whusky,  an'  the  inside  o'  a  man  that's 
wantin'  it.  Ay,  puir  buddie,  she  diz  her  pairt,  an' 
when  ye're  a  bit  restless  an'  thrawn  aifter  yer  day's 
wark,  it's  like  a  walk  in  a  bonnie  glen  on  a  simmer 
eve.   with  the  birds  liltin'  aboot,   tae  sit  in  yon 


:26  Black  Rock 

roomie  and  hear  her  sing;  but  when  the  night  is  on, 
an'  ye  canna  sleep,  but  wauken  wi'  an'  awfu'  thurst 
and  wi'  dreams  o'  cosy  firesides,  and  the  bonnie 
sparkiin'  glosses,  as  it  is  wi'  puir  Billy,  ay,  it's  then 
ye  need  a  man  wi'  a  guid  grup  beside  ye.' 

'What  do  you  do  then,  Geordie ?'  I  asked. 

'Oo  ay,  1  juist  gang  for  a  bit  walk  wi'  the 
lad,  and  then  pits  the  kettle  on  an'  m^ks  a  cup 
o'  tea  or  coffee,  an'  aff  he  gangs  tae  sleep  like  a 
bairn.' 

'  Poor  Billy,'  I  said  pityingly,  'there's  no  hope  for 
him  in  the  future,  1  fear.' 

'Hoot  awa,  man,'  said  Geordie  quickly.  'Ye 
wadna  keep  oot  a  puir  cratur  frae  creepin'  in,  that's 
daein'  his  best  ? ' 

'But,  Geordie,'  I  remonstrated,  'he  doesn't  know 
anything  of  the  doctrines.  I  don't  believe  he  could 
give  us  "  The  Chief  End  of  Man."  ' 

'  An'  wha's  tae  blame  for  that  ? '  said  Geordie, 
with  fine  indignation.  '  An'  maybe  you  remember 
the  prood  Pharisee  and  the  puir  wumman  that  cam' 
creepin'  in  ahint  the  Maister.' 

The  mingled  tenderness  and  indignation  in 
Geordie's  face  were  beautiful  to  see,  so  I  meekly 
answered,  'Well,  I  hope  Mr.  Craig  won't  be  too 
strict  with  the  boys.' 


Black  Rock  Religion  127 

Geordie  shot  a  suspicious  glance  at  me,  but  I 
kept  my  face  like  a  summer  morn,  and  he  replied 
cautiously  — 

'  Ay,  he's  no'  that  streect :  but  he  maun  exer- 
ceese  discreemination.' 

Geordie  was  none  the  less  determined,  however, 
that  Billy  should  '  come  forrit ' ;  but  as  to  the  man- 
ager, who  was  a  member  of  the  English  Church, 
and  some  others  who  had  been  confirmed  years 
ago,  and  had  forgotten  much  and  denied  more,  he 
was  extremely  doubtful,  and  expressed  himself  in 
very  decided  words  to  the  minister  — 

'Ye'll  no'  be  askin'  forrit  thae  Epeescopawlyun 
buddies.     They  juist  ken  naething  ava.' 

But  Mr.  Craig  looked  at  him  for  a  moment  and 
said,  '  "Him  that  cometh  unto  Me  I  will  in  no  wise 
cast  out,'"  and  Geordie  was  silent,  though  he  con- 
tinued doubtful. 

With  all  these  somewhat  fantastic  features,  how- 
ever, there  was  no  mistaking  the  earnest  spirit  of 
the  men.  The  meetings  grew  larger  every  night, 
and  the  interest  became  more  intense.  The  singing 
became  different.  The  men  no  longer  simply 
shouted,  but  as  Mr.  Craig  would  call  attention  to 
the  sentiment  of  the  hymn,  the  voices  would  attune 
themselves  to  the  words.     Instead  of  encouraging 


128  Black  Rock 

anything  like  emotional  excitement,  Mr.  Craig 
seemed  to  fear  it. 

'Tliese  ciiaps  are  easily  stirred  up,'  he  would  say, 
'  and  1  am  anxious  that  they  should  know  exactly 
what  they  are  doing.  It  is  far  too  serious  a  busi- 
ness to  trifle  with.' 

Although  Graeme  did  not  go  downstairs  to  the 
meetings,  he  could  not  but  feel  the  throb  of  the 
emotion  beating  in  the  heart  of  the  community.  I 
used  to  detail  for  his  benefit,  and  sometimes  for  his 
amusement,  the  incidents  of  each  night.  But  1 
never  felt  quite  easy  in  dwelling  upon  the  humor- 
ous features  in  Mrs.  Mayor's  presence,  although 
Craig  did  not  appear  to  mind.  His  manner  with 
Graeme  was  perfect.  Openly  anxious  to  win  him 
to  his  side,  he  did  not  improve  the  occasion  and 
vex  him  with  exhortation.  He  would  not  take  him 
at  a  disadvantage,  though,  as  I  afterward  found, 
this  was  not  his  sole  reason  for  his  method.  Mrs. 
Mavor,  too,  showed  herself  in  wise  and  tender 
light.  She  might  have  been  his  sister,  so  frank  was 
she  and  so  openly  affectionate,  laughing  at  his  fret- 
fulness  and  soothing  his  weariness. 

Never  were  better  comrades  than  we  four,  and 
the  bright  days  speeding  so  swiftly  on  drew  us 
nearer  to  one  another. 


Black  Rock  Religion  129 

But  the  bright  days  came  to  an  end ;  for  Graeme, 
when  once  he  was  able  to  go  about,  became  anx- 
ious to  get  back  to  the  camp.  And  so  the  last  day 
came,  a  day  I  remember  well.  It  was  a  bright, 
crisp  winter  day. 

The  air  was  shimmering  in  the  frosty  light.  The 
mountains,  with  their  shining  heads  piercing 
through  light  clouds  into  that  wonderful  blue  of 
the  western  sky,  and  their  feet  pushed  into  the  pine 
masses,  gazed  down  upon  Black  Rock  with  calm, 
kindly  looks  on  their  old  grey  faces.  How  one 
grows  to  love  them,  steadfast  old  friends!  Far  up 
among  the  pines  we  could  see  the  smoke  of  the 
engine  at  the  works,  and  so  still  and  so  clear  was 
the  mountain  air  that  we  could  hear  the  puff  of  the 
steam,  and  from  far  down  the  river  the  murmur  of 
the  rapids.  The  majestic  silence,  the  tender  beauty, 
the  peace,  the  loneliness,  too,  came  steahng  in  upon 
us,  as  we  three,  leaving  Mrs.  Mavor  behind  us, 
marched  arm-in-arm  down  the  street.  We  had 
not  gone  far  on  our  way,  when  Graeme,  turning 
round,  stood  a  moment  looking  back,  then  waved 
his  hand  in  farewell.  Mrs.  Mavor  was  at  her  win- 
dow, smiling  and  waving  in  return.  They  had 
grown  to  be  great  friends  these  two ;  and  seemed 
to  have  arrived  at  some  understanding.     Certainly, 


130  Black  Rock 

Graeme's  manner  to  her  was  not  that  he  bore  to 
other  women.  His  half-quizzical,  somewhat  su- 
perior air  of  mocking  devotion  gave  place  to  a  sim- 
ple, earnest,  almost  tender,  respect,  very  new  to 
him,  but  very  winning. 

As  he  stood  there  waving  his  farewell,  I  glanced 
at  his  face  and  saw  for  a  moment  what  I  had  not 
seen  for  years,  a  faint  flush  on  Graeme's  cheek  and 
a  light  of  simple,  earnest  faith  in  his  eyes.  It 
reminded  me  of  my  first  look  of  him  when  he  had 
come  up  for  his  matriculation  to  the  'Varsity.  He 
stood  on  the  campus  looking  up  at  the  noble  old 
pile,  and  there  was  the  same  bright,  trustful,  earnest 
look  on  his  boyish  face. 

I  know  not  what  spirit  possessed  me;  it  may 
have  been  the  pain  of  the  memory  working 
in  me,  but  I  said,  coarsely  enough,  'It's  no  use, 
Graeme,  my  boy;  I  would  fall  in  love  with  her 
myself,  but  there  would  be  no  chance  even  for 
me.' 

The  flush  slowly  darkened  as  he  turned  and  said 
deliberately  — 

*  It's  not  like  you,  Connor,  to  be  an  ass  of  that 
peculiar  kind.  Love! — not  exactly!  She  won't  fall 
in  love  unless — '  and  he  stopped  abruptly  with  his 
eyes  upon  Craig. 


Black  Rock  Religion  13' 

But  Craig  met  him  with  unshrinking  gaze, 
quietly  remarking,  'Her  heart  is  under  the  pines;* 
and  we  moved  on,  each  thinking  his  own 
thoughts,  and  guessing  at  the  thoughts  of  the 
others. 

We  were  on  our  way  to  Craig's  shack,  and  as  we 
passed  the  saloon  Slavin  stepped  from  the  door  with 
a  salutation.  Graeme  paused.  '  Hello,  Slavin !  I  got 
rather  the  worst  of  it,  didn't  I  ?  * 

Slavin  came  near,  and  said  earnestly,  *  It  was  a 
dirty  thrick  altogether;  you'll  not  think  it  was 
moine,  Mr.  Graeme.' 

'No,  no,  Slavin!  you  stood  up  like  a  man,'  said 
Graeme  cheerfully.. 

'And  you  bate  me  fair;  an'  bedad  it  was  a  nate 
one  that  laid  me  out;  an'  there's  no  grudge  in  me 
heart  till  ye.' 

*  All  right,  Slavin ;  we'll  perhaps  understand  each 
other  better  after  this.' 

'  An'  that's  thrue  for  yez,  sor;  an'  I'll  see  that  your 
byes  don't  get  any  more  than  they  ask  for,'  replied 
Slavin,  backing  away. 

'And  1  hope  that  won't  be  much,*  put  in  Mr. 
Craig;  but  Slavin  only  grinned. 

When  we  came  to  Craig's  shack  Graeme  was  glad 
to  rest  in  the  big  chair. 


13*  Black  Rock 

Craig  made  him  a  cup  of  tea,  while  I  smoked, 
admiring  much  the  deft  neatness  of  the  minister's 
houselceeping,  and  the  gentle,  almost  motherly,  way 
he  had  with  Graeme. 

In  our  talk  we  drifted  into  the  future,  and  Craig 
let  us  see  what  were  his  ambitions.  The  railway 
was  soon  to  come;  the  resources  were,  as  yet,  un- 
explored, but  enough  was  known  to  assure  a  great 
future  for  British  Columbia.  As  he  talked  his 
enthusiasm  grew,  and  carried  us  away.  With 
the  eye  of  a  general  he  surveyed  the  country,  fixed 
the  strategic  points  which  the  Church  must  seize 
upon.  Eight  good  men  would  hold  the  country 
from  Fort  Steele  to  the  coast,  and  from  Kootenay  to 
Cariboo. 

'The  Church  must  be  in  with  the  railway;  she 
must  have  a  hand  In  the  shaping  of  the  country.  If 
society  crystallises  without  her  influence,  the  country 
is  lost,  and  British  Columbia  will  be  another  trap- 
door to  the  bottomless  pit.' 

*What  do  you  propose?'  I  asked. 

'Organising  a  little  congregation  here  in  Black 
Rock.' 

'  How  many  will  you  get  ? ' 

'Don't  know.' 

'Pretty  hopeless  business,'  I  said. 


Black  Rock  Religion  i33 

Hopeless  1  hopeless ! '  he  cried ;  '  there  were  only 
twelve  of  us  at  first  to  follow  Him,  and  rather  a  poor 
lot  they  were.  But  He  braced  them  up,  and  they 
conquered  the  world.' 

'  But  surely  things  are  different,'  said  Graeme. 

'Things?  Yesl  yesi  But  He  is  the  same.'  His 
face  had  an  exalted  look,  and  his  eyes  were  gazing 
into  far-away  places. 

'  A  dozen  men  in  Black  Rock  with  some  real  grip 
of  Him  would  make  things  go.  We'll  get  them, 
too,'  he  went  on  in  growing  excitement.  '  1  believe 
in  my  soul  we'll  get  them.' 

'Look  here,  Craig;  if  you  organise  I'd  like  to 
join,'  said  Graeme  impulsively.  'I  don't  believe 
much  in  your  creed  or  your  Church,  but  I'll  be 
blowed  if  I  don't  believe  in  you.' 

Craig  looked  at  him  with  wistful  eyes,  and  shook 
his  head.  'It  won't  do,  old  chap,  you  know.  I 
can't  hold  you.  You've  got  to  have  a  grip  of 
some  one  better  than  I  am;  and  then,  besides,  I 
hardly  like  asking  you  now;'  he  hesitated — 'well, 
to  be  out-and-out,  this  step  must  be  taken  not 
for  my  sake,  nor  for  any  man's  sake,  and  I  fancy 
that  perhaps  you  feel  like  pleasing  me  just  now  a 
little.' 

'  That  I  do,  old  fellow,'  said  Graeme,  putting  out 


13^  Black  Rock 

his  hand.  'I'll  be  hanged  if  I  won't  do  anything 
you  say.' 

'That's  why  I  won't  say/  replied  Craig.  Then 
reverently  he  added,  '  The  organisation  is  not  mine. 
It  is  my  Master's.' 

'  When  are  you  going  to  begin  ? '  asked  Graeme. 

'We  shall  have  our  communion  service  in  two 
weeks,  and  that  will  be  our  roll-call.' 

'  How  many  will  answer  ? '  I  asked  doubtfully. 

M  know  of  three,'  he  said  quietly. 

'Three I  There  are  two  hundred  miners  and  one 
hundred  and  fifty  lumbermen !  Three ! '  and  Graeme 
looked  at  him  in  amazement.  '  You  think  it  worth 
while  to  organise  three  ? ' 

'Well,'  replied  Craig,  smiling  for  the  first  time, 
'  the  organisation  won't  be  elaborate,  but  it  will  be 
effective,  and,  besides,  loyalty  demands  obedience.' 

We  sat  long  that  afternoon  talking,  shrinking 
from  the  breaking  up;  for  we  knew  that  we  were 
about  to  turn  down  a  chapter  in  our  lives  which  we 
should  delight  to  linger  over  in  after  days.  And  in 
my  life  there  is  but  one  brighter.  At  last  we  said 
good-bye  and  drove  away ;  and  though  many  fare- 
wells have  come  in  between  that  day  and  this,  none 
is  so  vividly  present  to  me  as  that  between  us  three 
men.     Craig's  manner  with  me  was  solemn  enough. 


Black  Rock  Religion  135 

•*'He  that  loveth  his  life";  good-bye,  don't  fool 
with  this,'  was  what  he  said  to  me.  But  when  he 
turned  to  Graeme  his  whole  face  Ut  up.  He  took 
him  by  the  shoulders  and  gave  him  a  little  shake, 
looking  into  his  eyes,  and  saying  over  and  over  in 
a  low,  sweet  tone  — 

'  You'll  come,  old  chap,  you'll  come,  you'll  come. 
Tell  me  you'll  come.' 

And  Graeme  could  say  nothing  in  reply,  but  only 
looked  at  him.  Then  they  silently  shook  hands, 
and  we  drove  off.  But  long  after  we  had  got  over 
the  mountain  and  into  the  winding  forest  road  on 
the  way  to  the  lumber-camp  the  voice  kept  vibrat- 
ing in  my  heart,  '  You'll  come,  you'll  come,'  and 
there  was  a  hot  pain  in  my  throat. 

We  said  little  during  the  drive  to  the  camp. 
Graeme  was  thinking  hard,  and  made  no  answer 
when  1  spoke  to  him  two  or  three  times,  till  we 
came  to  the  deep  shadows  of  the  pine  forest,  when 
with  a  little  shiver  he  said  — 

'  It  is  all  a  tangle — a  hopeless  tangle* 

•Meaning  what?'  1  asked. 

'This  business  cf  religion — what  quaint  varieties 

— ^Nelson's,  Geordie's,  Billy  Breen's — if  he  has  any 

— then  Mrs.  Mavor's — she  is  a  saint,  of  course — and 

that  fellow  Craig's.     What  a  trump  he  is! — and 


13^  Black  Rock 

without  his  religion  he'd  be  pretty  much  like  the 
rest  of  us.    It  is  too  much  for  me.' 

His  mystery  was  not  mine.  The  Black  Rock  va- 
rieties of  religion  were  certainly  startling;  but  there 
was  undoubtedly  the  streak  of  reality  through  them 
all,  and  that  discovery  I  felt  to  be  a  distinct  gain. 


The  First  Black  Rock  Communion 


CHAPTER  V!I 

THE  FIRST  BLACK  ROCK  COMMUNION 

The  gleam  of  the  great  fire  through  the  windows 
of  the  great  camp  gave  a  kindly  welcome  as  we 
drove  into  the  clearing  in  which  the  shanties  stood- 
Graeme  was  greatly  touched  at  his  enthusiastic  wel- 
come by  the  men.  At  the  supper-table  he  made  a 
little  speech  of  thanks  for  their  faithfulness  during 
his  absence,  specially  commending  the  care  and 
efficiency  of  Mr.  Nelson,  who  had  had  charge  of  the 
camp.  The  men  cheered  wildly,  Baptiste's  shrill 
voice  leading  all.  Nelson  being  called  upon,  ex- 
pressed in  a  few  words  his  pleasure  at  seeing  the 
Boss  back,  and  thanked  the  men  for  their  support 
while  he  had  been  in  charge. 

The  men  were  for  making  a  night  of  it;  but  fear- 
ing the  effect  upon  Graeme,  I  spoke  to  Nelson,  who 
passed  the  word,  and  in  a  short  time  the  camp  was 
quiet.  As  we  sauntered  from  the  grub-camp  to  the 
office  where  was  our  bed,  we  paused  to  take  in  the 
beauty  of  the  night.    The  moon  rode  high  over  the 

peaks  of  the  mountains,  flooding  the  narrow  valley 

139 


140  Black  Rock 

with  mellow  light.  Under  her  magic  the  rugged 
peaks  softened  their  harsh  lines  and  seemed  to  lean 
lovingly  toward  us.  The  dark  pine  masses  stood 
silent  as  in  breathless  adoration ;  the  dazzling  snow 
lay  like  a  garment  over  all  the  open  spaces  in  soft 
waving  folds,  and  crowned  every  stump  with  a 
quaintly  shaped  nightcap.  Above  the  camps  the 
smoke  curled  up  from  the  camp-fires,  standing  like 
pillars  of  cloud  that  kept  watch  while  men  slept. 
And  high  over  all  the  deep  blue  night  sky,  with  its 
star  jewels,  sprang  like  the  roof  of  a  great  cathedral 
from  range  to  range,  covering  us  in  its  kindly 
shelter.  How  homelike  and  safe  seemed  the  valley 
with  its  mountain-sides,  its  sentinel  trees  and  arch- 
ing roof  of  jewelled  sky!  Even  the  night  seemed 
kindly,  and  friendly  the  stars;  and  the  lone  cry  of 
the  wolf  from  the  deep  forest  seemed  like  the  voice 
of  a  comrade. 

'How  beautiful!  too  beautiful!'  said  Graeme 
stretching  out  his  arms.  '  A  night  like  this  takes 
the  heart  out  of  me.' 

I  stood  silent,  drinking  in  at  every  sense  the  night 
with  its  wealth  of  loveliness. 

'  What  is  it  I  want  ? '  he  went  on.  '  Why  does 
the  night  make  my  heart  ache  ?  There  are  things 
to  see  and  things  to  hear  just  beyond  me;  I  cannot 


The  First  Black  Rock  Communion    141 

get  to  them.'  The  gay,  careless  look  was  gone 
from  his  face,  his  dark  eyes  were  wistful  with 
yearning. 

'  I  often  wonder  if  life  has  nothing  better  for  me,' 
he  continued  with  his  heartache  voice. 

I  said  no  word,  but  put  my  arm  within  his.  A 
light  appeared  in  the  stable.  Glad  of  a  diversion,  I 
said,  *  What  is  the  light  ?    Let  us  go  and  see.' 

'Sandy,  taking  a  last  look  at  his  team,  like 
enough.' 

We  walked  slowly  toward  the  stable,  speaking 
no  word.  As  we  neared  the  door  we  heard  the 
sound  of  a  voice  in  the  monotone  of  one  reading. 
I  stepped  forward  and  looked  through  a  chink  be- 
tween the  logs.  Graeme  was  about  to  open  the 
door,  but  1  held  up  my  hand  and  beckoned  him  to 
me.  In  a  vacant  stall,  where  was  a  pile  of  straw,  a 
number  of  men  were  grouped.  Sandy,  leaning 
against  the  tying-post  upon  which  the  stable-lan- 
tern hung,  was  reading;  Nelson  was  kneeling  in 
front  of  him  and  gazing  into  the  gloom  beyond; 
Baptiste  lay  upon  his  stomach,  his  chin  in  his  hands 
and  his  upturned  eyes  fastened  upon  Sandy's  face; 
Lachlan  Campbell  sat  with  his  hands  clasped  about 
his  knees,  and  two  other  men  sat  near  him.  Sandy 
was  reading  the  undying  story  of  the  Prodigal, 


142  Black  Rock 

Nelson  now  and  then  stopping  him  to  make  a  re- 
mark. It  was  a  scene  I  have  never  been  able  to  for- 
get. To-day  I  pause  in  my  tale,  and  see  it  as  clearly 
as  when  I  looked  through  the  chink  upon  it  years 
ago.  The  long,  low  stable,  with  log  walls  and  up- 
right hitching-poles;  the  dim  outlines  of  the  horses 
in  the  gloom  of  the  background,  and  the  little  group 
of  rough,  almost  savage-looking  men,  with  faces 
wondering  and  reverent,  lit  by  the  misty  light  of 
the  stable-lantern. 

After  the  reading,  Sandy  handed  the  book  to 
Nelson,  who  put  it  in  his  pocket,  saying,  '  That's 
for  us,  boys,  ain't  it?' 

'  Ay,'  said  Lachlan;  *  it  is  often  that  has  been  read 
in  my  hearing,  but  1  am  afraid  it  will  not  be  for  me 
whatever,'  and  he  swayed  himself  slightly  as  he 
spoke,  and  his  voice  was  full  of  pain. 

'  The  minister  said  1  might  come,'  said  old  Nelson, 
earnestly  and  hopefully. 

'  Ay,  but  you  are  not  Lachlan  Campbell,  and  you 
hef  not  had  his  privileges.  My  father  was  a  godly 
elder  in  the  Free  Church  of  Scotland,  and  never  a 
night  or  morning  but  we  took  the  Books,' 

'  Yes,  but  He  said  "  any  man," '  persisted  Nelson, 
putting  his  hand  on  Lachlan's  knee.  But  Lachlan 
shook  his  head. 


The  First  Black  Rock  Communion    14 J 

'Dat  young  feller,'  said  Baptiste;  'wha's  hees 
nem,  heh?' 

'  He  has  no  name.  It  is  just  a  parable,'  explained 
Sandy. 

'  He's  got  no  nem  ?  He's  just  a  parom'ble  ?  Das 
no  young  feller?'  asked  Baptiste  anxiously;  'das 
mean  noting  ? ' 

Then  Nelson  took  him  in  hand  and  explained  to 
him  the  meaning,  while  Baptiste  listened  even  more 
eagerly,  ejaculating  softly,  'ah,  voila!  bon!  by  gar!' 
When  Nelson  had  finished  he  broke  out,  '  Dat  young 
feller,  his  name  Baptiste,  heh  ?  and  de  old  Fadder 
he's  le  bon  Dieu  ?  Bon !  das  good  story  for  me. 
How  you  go  back  ?    You  go  to  de  pries'  ? ' 

*  The  book  doesn't  say  priest  or  any  one  else,'  said 
Nelson.     *  You  go  back  in  yourself,  you  see  ? ' 

'  Non ;  das  so,  sure  nuff.  Ah ! ' — as  if  a  light 
broke  in  upon  him — 'you  go  in  your  own  self. 
You  make  one  leetle  prayer.  You  say,  "Le  bon 
Fadder,  oh  I  I  want  come  back,  I  so  tire,  so  hongree, 
so  sorree"?  He  say,  "Come  right  'long.''  Ah! 
das  fuss-rate.  Nelson,  you  make  one  leetle  prayer 
for  Sandy  and  me.' 

And  Nelson  lifted  up  his  face  and  said :  '  Father, 
we're  all  gone  far  away ;  we  have  spent  all,  we  are 
poor,  we  are  tired  of  it  all;  we  want  to  feel  differ- 


144  Black  Rock 

ent,  to  be  diflFerent;  we  want  to  come  back.  Jesus 
came  to  save  us  from  our  sins ;  and  He  said  if  we 
came  He  wouldn't  cast  us  out,  no  matter  how  bad 
we  were,  if  we  only  came  to  Him.  Oh,  Jesus 
Christ ' — and  his  old,  iron  face  began  to  work,  and 
two  big  tears  slowly  came  from  under  his  eyelids— 
'  we  are  a  poor  lot,  and  I'm  the  worst  of  the  lot, 
and  we  are  trying  to  find  the  way.  Show  us  how 
to  get  back.     Amen.' 

'  Bon ! '  said  Baptiste.     *  Das  fetch  Him  surel ' 

Graeme  pulled  me  away,  and  without  a  word  we 
went  into  the  office  and  drew  up  to  the  little  stove. 
Graeme  was  greatly  moved. 

'Did  you  ever  see  anything  like  that  ?'  he  asked. 
'Old  Nelson!  the  hardest,  savagest,  toughest  old 
sinner  in  the  camp,  on  his  knees  before  a  lot  of 
men!' 

'Before  God,'  I  could  not  help  saying,  for  the 
thing  seemed  very  real  to  me.  The  old  man  evi- 
dently felt  himself  talking  to  some  one. 

'Yes,  I  suppose  you're  right,'  said  Graeme  doubt- 
fully; *  but  there's  a  lot  of  stuff  I  can't  swallow.' 

'  When  you  take  medicine  you  don't  swallow  the 
bottle,'  I  replied,  for  his  trouble  was  not  mine. 

*  If  I  were  sure  of  the  medicine,  I  wouldn't  mind 
the  bottle,  and  yet  it  acts  well  enough,'  he  went  on. 


The  First  Black  Rock  Communion    145 

'  I  don't  mind  Lachlan ;  he's  a  Highland  mystic,  and 
has  visions,  and  Sandy's  almost  as  bad,  and  Baptiste 
is  an  impulsive  little  chap.  Those  don't  count 
much.  But  old  man  Nelson  is  a  cool-blooded,  level' 
headed  old  fellow ;  has  seen  a  lot  of  life,  too.  And 
then  there's  Craig.  He  has  a  better  head  than  I 
have,  and  is  as  hot-blooded,  and  yet  he  is  living  and 
slaving  away  in  that  hole,  and  really  enjoys  it* 
There  must  be  something  in  it.' 

*0h,  look  here,  Graeme,'  I  burst  out  impatiently; 
'what's  the  use  of  your  talking  like  that?  Of 
course  there's  something  in  it.  There's  everything 
in  it.  The  trouble  with  me  is  I  can't  face  the  music. 
It  calls  for  a  life  where  a  fellow  must  go  in  for 
straight,  steady  work,  self-denial,  and  that  sort  of 
thing;  and  I'm  too  Bohemian  for  that,  and  too  lazy. 
But  that  fellow  Craig  makes  one  feel  horribly  un- 
comfortable.' 

Graeme  put  his  head  on  one  side,  and  examined 
me  curiously. 

*I  believe  you're  right  about  yourself.  You  al- 
ways were  a  luxurious  beggar.  But  that's  not 
where  it  catches  me.' 

We  sat  and  smoked  and  talked  of  other  things 
for  an  hour,  and  then  turned  in.  As  I  was  dropping 
off  1  was  roused  by  Graeme's  voice — 


146  Black  Rock 

*  Are  you  going  to  the  preparatory  service  on  Fri- 
day night  ? ' 

'Don't  know/  I  replied  rather  sleepily. 

'  I  say,  do  you  remember  the  preparatory  service 
at  home  ? '  There  was  something  in  his  voice  that 
set  me  wide  awake. 

'Yes.  Rather  terrific,  wasn't  it?  But  I  always 
felt  better  after  it,'  I  replied. 

'  To  me ' — he  was  sitting  up  in  bed  now — '  to  me 
it  was  like  a  call  to  arms,  or  rather  like  a  call  for  a 
forlorn  hope.  None  but  volunteers  wanted.  Do 
you  remember  the  thrill  in  the  old  governor's  voice 
as  he  dared  any  but  the  right  stuff  to  come  on  ? ' 

'  We'll  go  in  on  Friday  night,'  I  said. 

And  so  we  did.  Sandy  took  a  load  of  men  with 
his  team,  and  Graeme  and  1  drove  in  the  light  sleigh. 

The  meeting  was  in  the  church,  and  over  a  hun- 
dred men  were  present.  There  was  some  singing 
of  familiar  hymns  at  first,  and  then  Mr.  Craig  read 
the  same  story  as  we  had  heard  in  the  stable,  that 
most  perfect  of  all  parables,  the  Prodigal  Son.  Bap- 
tiste  nudged  Sandy  in  delight,  and  whispered  some- 
thing, but  Sandy  held  his  face  so  absolutely  expres- 
sionless that  Graeme  was  moved  to  say  — 

'  Look  at  Sandy !  Did  you  ever  see  such  a  graven 
image  ?    Something  has  hit  him  hard.* 


The  First  Black  Rock  Communion    147 

The  men  were  held  fast  Dy  the  story.  The  voice 
of  the  reader,  low,  earnest,  and  thrilling  with  the 
tender  pathos  of  the  tale,  carried  the  words  to  our 
hearts,  while  a  glance,  a  gesture,  a  movement  of 
the  body  gave  us  the  vision  of  it  all  as  he  was  see- 
ing it. 

Then,  in  simplest  of  words,  he  told  us  what  the 
story  meant,  holding  us  the  while  with  eyes,  and 
voice,  and  gesture.  He  compelled  us  to  scorn  the 
gay,  heartless  selfishness  of  the  young  fool  setting 
forth  so  jauntily  from  the  broi^en  home;  he  moved 
our  pity  and  our  sympathy  for  the  young  profligate, 
who,  broken  and  deserted,  had  still  pluck  enough  to 
determine  to  work  his  way  back,  and  who,  in  utter 
desperation,  at  last  gave  it  up ;  and  then  he  showed 
us  the  home-coming — the  ragged,  heart-sick  tramp, 
with  hesitating  steps,  stumbling  along  the  dusty 
road,  and  then  the  rush  of  the  old  father,  his  gar- 
ments fluttering,  and  his  voice  heard  in  broken 
cries.  I  see  and  hear  it  all  now,  whenever  the 
words  are  read. 

He  announced  the  hymn,  'Just  as  I  am,'  read  the 
first  verse,  and  then  went  on :  *  There  you  are,  men, 
every  man  of  you,  somewhere  on  the  road.  Some 
of  you  are  too  lazy' — here  Graeme  nudged  me — 
'and  some  of  you  haven't  got  enough  yet  of  the 


148  Black  Rock 

far  country  to  come  back.  May  there  be  a  chance 
for  you  when  you  want  to  cornel  Men,  you  all 
want  to  go  back  home,  and  when  you  go  you'll 
want  to  put  on  your  soft  clothes,  and  you  won't  go 
till  you  can  go  in  good  style;  but  where  did  the 
prodigal  get  his  good  clothes?'  Quick  came  the 
answer  in  Baptiste's  shrill  voice — 

'  From  de  old  f  adder  I ' 

No  one  was  surprised,  and  the  minister  went 
on — 

'Yesl  and  that's  where  we  must  get  the  good, 
clean  heart,  the  good,  clean,  brave  heart,  from  our 
Father.  Don't  wait,  but,  just  as  you  are,  come. 
Sing.' 

They  sang,  not  loud,  as  they  would  '  Stand  Up,' 
or  even  'The  Sweet  By  and  By,'  but  in  voices  sub- 
dued, holding  down  the  power  in  them. 

After  the  singing,  Craig  stood  a  moment  gazing 
down  at  the  men,  and  then  said  quietly  — 

'  Any  man  want  to  come  ?  You  all  might  come. 
We  all  must  come.'  Then,  sweeping  his  arm  over 
the  audience,  and  turning  half  round  as  if  to  move 
off,  he  cried,  in  a  voice  that  thrilled  to  the  heart's 
core  — 

' Ohl  come  on!    Let's  go  backl ' 

The  effect  was  overpowering.     It  seemed  to  me 


The  First  Black  Rock  Communion    i49 

that  the  whole  company  half  rose  to  their  feet. 
Of  the  prayer  that  immediately  followed,  I  only 
caught  the  opening  sentence,  *  Father,  we  are  com- 
ing back,'  for  my  attention  was  suddenly  absorbed 
by  Abe,  the  stage-driver,  who  was  sitting  next  me. 
I  could  hear  him  swearing  approval  and  admira- 
tion, saying  to  himself — 

'Ain't  he  a  clinker!  I'll  be  gee-whizzly-goi- 
dusted  if  he  ain't  a  malleable-iron-double-back- 
action  self-adjusting  corn-cracker.'  And  the  prayer 
continued  to  be  punctuated  with  like  admiring  and 
even  more  sulphurous  expletives.  It  was  an  incon- 
gruous medley.  The  earnest,  reverent  prayer,  and 
the  earnest,  admiring  profanity,  rendered  chaotic 
one's  ideas  of  religious  propriety.  The  feelings  in 
both  were  akin;  the  method  of  expression  some- 
what widely  diverse. 

After  prayer,  Craig's  tone  changed  utterly.  In  a 
quiet,  matter-of-fact,  businesslike  way  he  stated 
his  plan  of  organisation,  and  called  for  all  who 
wished  to  join  to  remain  after  the  benediction. 
Some  fifty  men  were  left,  among  them  Nelson, 
Sandy,  Lachlan  Campbell,  Baptiste,  Shaw,  Nixon, 
Geordie,  and  Billy  Breen,  who  tried  to  get  out,  but 
was  held  fast  by  Geordie. 
'  Graeme  was  passing  out,  but  I  signed  him  to  re- 


ISO  Black  Rock 

main,  saying  that  I  wished  '  to  see  the  thing  out/ 
Abe  sat  still  beside  me,  swearing  disgustedly  at  the 
fellows  'who  were  going  back  on  the  preacher.' 
Craig  appeared  amazed  at  the  number  of  men  re- 
maining, and  seemed  to  fear  that  something  was 
wrong.  He  put  before  them  the  terms  of  disciple- 
ship,  as  the  Master  put  them  to  the  eager  scribe, 
and  he  did  not  make  them  easy.  He  pictured  the 
kind  of  work  to  be  done,  and  the  kind  of  men 
needed  for  the  doing  of  it.  Abe  grew  uneasy  as 
the  minister  went  on  to  describe  the  completeness 
of  the  surrender,  the  intensity  of  the  loyalty  de- 
manded. 

'That  knocks  me  out,  I  reckon,'  he  muttered,  in 
a  disappointed  tone;  '  I  ain't  up  to  that  grade.'  And 
as  Craig  described  the  heroism  called  for,  the  mag- 
nificence of  the  fight,  the  worth  of  it,  and  the  out- 
come of  it  all,  Abe  ground  out:  '  I'll  be  blanked  if  I 
wouldn't  like  to  take  a  hand,  but  1  guess  I'm  not  in 
it.'    Craig  finished  by  saying  — 

'  I  want  to  put  this  quite  fairly.  It  is  not  any 
league  of  mine;  you're  not  joining  my  company;  it 
is  no  easy  business,  and  it  is  for  your  whole  life. 
What  do  you  say  ?  Do  I  put  it  fairly  ?  What  do 
you  say.  Nelson  ?  * 

Nelson  rose  slowly,  and  with  difficulty  began  — 


The  First  Black  Rock  Communion    i5* 

'  I  may  be  all  wrong,  but  you  made  it  easier  for 
me,  Mr.  Craig.  You  said  He  would  see  me  through, 
or  I  should  never  have  risked  it.  Perhaps  I  am 
wrong,'  and  the  old  man  looked  troubled.  Craig 
sprang  up. 

'No!  no!  Thank  God,  no!  He  will  see  every 
man  through  who  will  trust  his  life  to  Him.  Every 
man,  no  matter  how  tough  he  is,  no  matter  how 
broken.' 

Then  Nelson  straightened  himself  up  and  said  — 

'Well,  sir!  I  believe  a  lot  of  the  men  would  go 
in  for  this  if  they  were  dead  sure  they  would  get 
through.* 

'Get  through!'  said  Craig;  'never  a  fear  of  it. 
It  is  a  hard  fight,  a  long  fight,  a  glorious  fight,' 
throwing  up  his  head,  'but  every  man  who  squarely 
trusts  Him,  and  takes  Him  as  Lord  and  Master, 
comes  out  victor!' 

'  Bon ! '  said  Baptiste.  '  Das  me.  You  tink  He's 
take  me  in  dat  fight,  M'sieu  Craig,  heh  ? '  His  eyes 
were  blazing. 

'You  mean  it  ? '  asked  Craig  almost  sternly. 

'Yes!  by  gar! '  said  the  little  Frenchman  eagerly. 

'  Hear  what  He  says  then ; '  and  Craig,  turning 
over  the  leaves  of  his  Testament,  read  solemnly  the 
words,  '  Swear  not  at  alL* 


152  Black  Rock 

'Non!  For  sure!  Den  I  stop  him,'  replied 
Baptiste  earnestly,  and  Craig  wrote  his  name 
down. 

Poor  Abe  looked  amazed  and  distressed,  rose 
slowly,  and  saying,  'That  jars  my  whisky  jug,' 
passed  out.  There  was  a  slight  movement  near  the 
organ,  and  glancing  up  I  saw  Mrs.  Mavor  put  her 
face  hastily  in  her  hands.  The  men's  faces  were 
anxious  and  troubled,  and  Nelson  said  in  a  voice 
that  broke  — 

'Tell  them  what  you  told  me)  sir.'  But  Craig 
was  troubled  too,  and  replied,  '  You  tell  them.  Nel- 
son ! '  and  Nelson  told  the  men  the  story  of  how  he 
began  just  five  weeks  ago.  The  old  man's  voice 
steadied  as  he  went  on,  and  he  grew  eager  as  he 
told  how  he  had  been  helped,  and  how  the  world 
was  all  different,  and  his  heart  seemed  new.  He 
spoke  of  his  Friend  as  if  He  were  some  one  that 
could  be  seen  out  at  camp,  that  he  knew  well,  and 
met  every  day. 

But  as  he  tried  to  say  how  deeply  he  regretted 
that  he  had  not  known  all  this  years  before,  the  old, 
hard  face  began  to  quiver,  and  the  steady  voice 
wavered.  Then  he  pulled  himself  together,  and 
said  — 

'  I  begin  to  feel  sure  He'll  pull  me  through — me! 


The  First  Black  Rock  Communion    153 

the  hardest  man  in  the  mountains  I  So  don't  you 
fear,  boys.     He's  all  right.' 

Then  the  men  gave  in  their  names,  one  by  one. 
When  it  came  to  Geordie's  turn,  he  gave  his 
name  — 

'George  Crawford,  frae  the  pairish  o'  Kilsyth, 
Scotland,  an'  ye'U  juist  pit  doon  the  lad's  name, 
Maister  Craig;  he's  a  wee  bit  fashed  wi'  the  dis- 
coorse,  but  he  has  the  root  o'  the  maitter  in  him,  I 
doot.'    And  so  Billy  Breen's  name  went  down. 

When  the  meeting  was  over,  thirty-eight  names 
stood  upon  the  communion  roll  of  the  Black  Rock 
Presbyterian  Church ;  and  it  will  ever  be  one  of  the 
regrets  of  my  life  that  neither  Graeme's  name  nor 
my  own  appeared  on  that  roll.  And  two  days 
after,  when  the  cup  went  round  on  that  first  Com- 
munion Sabbath,  from  Nelson  to  Sandy,  and  from 
Sandy  to  Baptiste,  and  so  on  down  the  line  to  Billy 
Breen  and  Mrs.  Mavor,  and  then  to  Abe,  the  driver, 
whom  she  had  by  her  own  mystic  power  lifted  into 
hope  and  faith,  I  felt  all  the  shame  and  pain  of  a 
traitor;  and  I  believe  in  my  heart  that  the  fire  of 
that  pain  and  shame  burned  something  of  the  sel- 
fish cowardice  out  of  me,  and  that  it  is  burning 
still. 

The  last  words  of  the  minister,  in  the  short  ad- 


154  Black  Rock 

dress  after  the  table  had  been  served,  were  low,  and 
sweet,  and  tender,  but  they  were  words  of  high 
courage;  and  before  he  had  spoken  them  all,  the 
men  were  listening  with  shining  eyes,  and  when 
they  rose  to  sing  the  closing  hymn  they  stood 
straight  and  stiff  like  soldiers  on  parade. 

And  I  wished  more  than  ever  I  were  one  of 
them. 


The  Breaking  of  the  League 


CHAPTER  Via 

THE  BREAKING  OF  THE  LEAGUi: 

There  is  no  doubt  in  my  mind  that  nature  de- 
signed me  for  a  great  painter.  A  railway  director 
interfered  with  that  design  of  nature,  as  he  has  with 
many  another  of  hers,  and  by  the  transmission  of  an 
order  for  mountain  pieces  by  the  dozen,  together 
with  a  cheque  so  large  that  I  feared  there  was  some 
mistake,  he  determined  me  to  be  an  illustrator  and 
designer  for  railway  and  like  publications.  I  do 
not  like  these  people  ordering  'by  the  dozen.' 
Why  should  they  not  consider  an  artist's  finer  feel- 
ings ?  Perhaps  they  cannot  understand  them ;  but 
they  understand  my  pictures,  and  I  understand  their 
cheques,  and  there  we  are  quits.  But  so  it  came 
that  I  remained  in  Black  Rock  long  enough  to  wit- 
ness the  breaking  of  the  League. 

Looking  back  upon  the  events  of  that  night  from 
the  midst  of  gentle  and  decent  surroundings,  they 
now  seem  strangely  unreal,  but  to  me  then  they  ap- 
peared only  natural. 

It  was  the  Good   Friday  ball  that  wrecked  the 
157 


158  Black  Rock 

League.  For  the  fact  that  the  promoters  of  the  ball 
determined  that  it  should  be  a  ball  rather  than  a 
dance  was  taken  by  the  League  men  as  a  concession 
to  the  new  public  opinion  in  favour  of  respectability 
created  by  the  League.  And  when  the  manager's 
patronage  had  been  secured  (they  failed  to  get  Mrs. 
Mayor's),  and  it  was  further  announced  that,  though 
held  in  the  Black  Rock  Hotel  ball-room — indeed, 
there  was  no  other  place — refreshments  suited  to 
the  peculiar  tastes  of  League  men  would  be  pro- 
vided, it  was  felt  to  be  almost  a  necessity  that  the 
League  should  approve,  should  indeed  welcome, 
this  concession  to  the  public  opinion  in  favour  of 
respectability  created  by  the  League. 

There  were  extreme  men  on  both  sides,  of  course. 
'Idaho'  Jack,  professional  gambler,  for  instance, 
frankly  considered  that  the  whole  town  was  going 
to  unmentionable  depths  of  propriety.  The  organ- 
isation of  the  League  was  regarded  by  him,  and  by 
many  others,  as  a  sad  retrograde  toward  the  bond- 
age of  the  ancient  and  dying  East;  and  that  he  could 
not  get  drunk  when  and  where  he  pleased,  '  Idaho,' 
as  he  was  called,  regarded  as  a  personal  grievance. 

But  Idaho  was  never  enamoured  of  the  social 
ways  of  Black  Rock.  He  was  shocked  and  dis- 
gusted when  he  discovered  that  a  '  gun '  was  de- 


The  Breaking  of  the  League         159 

creed  by  British  law  to  be  an  unnecessary  adorn- 
ment of  a  card-table.  The  manner  of  his  discovery 
must  have  been  interesting  to  behold. 

It  is  said  that  Idaho  was  industriously  pursuing 
his  avocation  in  Slavin's,  with  his  *  gun '  lying  upon 
the  card-table  convenient  to  his  hand,  when  in 
walked  policeman  Jackson,  her  Majesty's  sole  repre- 
sentative in  the  Black  Rock  district.  Jackson, 
'Stonewall  Jackson,  or  'Stonewall,'  as  he  was 
called  for  obvious  reasons,  after  watching  the  game 
for  a  few  moments,  gently  tapped  the  pistol  and 
asked  what  he  used  this  for. 

*  I'll  show  you  in  two  holy  minutes  if  you  don't 
light  out,'  said  Idaho,  hardly  looking  up,  but  very 
angrily,  for  the  luck  was  against  him.  But  Jackson 
tapped  upon  the  table  and  said  sweetly  — 

'You're  a  stranger  here.  You  ought  to  get  a 
guide-book  and  post  yourself.  Now,  the  boys 
know  I  don't  interfere  with  an  innocent  little  game, 
but  there  is  a  regulation  against  playing  it  with 
guns;  so,'  he  added  even  more  sweetly,  but  fasten- 
ing Idaho  with  a  look  from  his  steel-grey  eyes,  '  I'll 
just  take  charge  of  this,'  picking  up  the  revolver; 
'it  might  go  off.' 

Idaho's  rage,  great  as  it  was,  was  quite  swallowed 
up  in  his  amazed  disgust  at  the  state  of  society  that 


i6o  Black  Rock 

would  permit,  such  an  outrage  upon  personal  litK 
erty.  He  was  quite  unable  to  play  any  more  that 
evening,  and  it  took  several  drinks  all  round  to  re- 
store him  to  articulate  speech.  The  rest  of  the 
night  was  spent  in  retaining  for  his  instruction 
storica  of  the  ways  of  Stonewall  Jackson. 

Idaho  bought  a  new  'gun,'  but  he  wore  it  'in  his 
clothes,'  and  used  it  chiefly  in  the  pastime  of  shoot- 
ing out  the  lights  or  in  picking  oflf  the  heels  from 
the  boys'  boots  while  a  stag  dance  was  in  progress 
in  Slavin's.  But  in  Stonewall's  presence  Idaho  was 
a  most  correct  citizen.  Stonewall  he  could  under- 
stand and  appreciate.  He  was  six  feet  three,  and 
had  an  eye  of  unpleasant  penetration.  But  this 
new  feeling  in  the  community  for  respectability  he 
could  neither  understand  nor  endure.  The  League 
became  the  object  of  his  indignant  aversion,  and  the 
League  men  of  his  contempt.  He  had  many  sym- 
pathisers, and  frequent  were  the  assaults  upon  the 
newly-born  sobriety  of  Billy  Breen  and  others  of 
the  League.  But  Geordie's  w^atchful  care  and  Mrs. 
Mavor's  steady  influence,  together  with  the  loyal 
co-operation  of  the  League  men,  kept  Billy  safe  so 
far.  Nixon,  too,  was  a  marked  man.  It  may  be 
that  he  carried  himself  with  unnecessary  jauntiness 
toward  Slavin  and  Idaho,  saluting  the  former  with, 


The  Breaking  of  the  League         i6i 

*  Awful  dry  weather  1  en,  Slavin?'  and  the  latter 
with,  'Hello,  old  sport!  how's  times?'  causing 
them  to  swear  deeply ;  and,  as  it  turned  out,  to  do 
more  than  swear. 

But  on  the  whole  the  anti-League  men  were  in 
favour  of  a  respectable  ball,  and  most  of  the  League 
men  determined  to  show  their  appreciation  of  the 
concession  of  the  committee  to  the  principles  of  the 
League  in  the  important  matter  of  refreshments  by 
attending  in  force. 

Nixon  would  not  go.  However  jauntily  he  might 
talk,  he  could  not  trust  himself,  as  he  said,  where 
whisky  was  flowing,  for  it  got  into  his  nose  '  like  a 
fish-hook  into  a  salmon.'  He  was  from  Nova 
Scotia.  For  like  reason,  Vernon  Winton,  the  young 
Oxford  fellow,  would  not  go.  When  they  chaffed, 
his  lips  grew  a  little  thinner,  and  the  colour  deep- 
ened in  his  handsome  face,  but  he  went  on  his  way. 
Geordie  despised  the  'hale  hypothick'  as  a  'daft 
ploy,'  and  the  spending  of  five  dollars  upon  a  ticket 
he  considered  a  '  sinfu'  waste  o'  guid  siller ' ;  and  he 
warned  Billy  against  '  coontenancin'  ony  sic  re- 
deeklus  nonsense.' 

But  no  one  expected  Billy  to  go;  although  the 
last  two  months  he  had  done  wonders  for  his  per- 
sonal appearance,  and  for  his  position  in  the  social 


i62  Black  Rock 

scale  as  well.  They  all  knew  what  a  fight  he  was 
making,  and  esteemed  him  accordingly.  How  well 
I  remember  the  pleased  pride  in  his  face  when  he 
told  me  in  the  afternoon  of  the  committee's  urgent 
request  that  he  should  join  the  orchestra  with  his 
'cello!  It  was  not  simply  that  his  'cello  was  his  joy 
and  pride,  but  he  felt  it  to  be  a  recognition  of  his 
return  to  respectability. 

I  have  often  wondered  how  things  combine  at 
times  to  a  man's  destruction. 

Had  Mr.  Craig  not  been  away  at  the  Landing 
that  week,  had  Geordie  not  been  on  the  night-shift, 
had  Mrs.  Mavor  not  been  so  occupied  with  the  care 
of  her  sick  child,  it  may  be  Billy  might  have  been 
saved  his  fall. 

The  anticipation  of  the  ball  stirred  Black  Rock 
and  the  camps  with  a  thrill  of  expectant  delight. 
Nowadays,  when  I  find  myself  forced  to  leave  my 
quiet  smoke  in  my  studio  after  dinner  at  the  call  of 
some  social  engagement  which  1  have  failed  to 
elude,  I  groan  at  my  hard  lot,  and  I  wonder  as  I 
look  back  and  remember  the  pleasurable  anticipa- 
tion with  which  I  viewed  the  approaching  ball.  But 
I  do  not  wonder  now  any  more  than  I  did  then  at 
the  eager  delight  of  the  men  who  for  seven  days  in 
tile  week  swung  their  picks  up  in  the  dark  breasts 


The  Breaking  of  the  League         163 

of  the  mines,  or  who  chopped  and  sawed  among 
the  solitary  silences  of  the  great  forests.  Any 
break  in  the  long  and  weary  monotony  was  wel- 
come; what  mattered  the  cost  or  consequence!  To 
the  rudest  and  least  cultured  of  them  the  sameness 
of  the  life  must  have  been  hard  to  bear;  but  what 
it  was  to  men  who  had  seen  life  in  its  most  cul- 
tured and  attractive  forms  I  fail  to  imagine.  From 
the  mine,  black  and  foul,  to  the  shack,  bare,  cheer- 
less, and  sometimes  hideously  repulsive,  life  swung 
in  heart-grinding  monotony  till  the  longing  for  a 
'  big  drink '  or  some  other  '  big  break '  became  too 
great  to  bear. 

It  was  well  on  toward  evening  when  Sandy's 
four-horse  team,  with  a  load  of  men  from  the 
woods,  came  swinging  round  the  curves  of  the 
mountain-road  and  down  the  street.  A  gay  crowd 
they  were  with  their  bright,  brown  faces  and 
hearty  voices ;  and  in  ten  minutes  the  whole  street 
seemed  alive  with  lumbermen — they  had  a  faculty 
of  spreading  themselves  so.  After  night  fell  the 
miners  came  down  '  done  up  slick,'  for  this  was  a 
great  occasion,  and  they  must  be  up  to  it.  The 
manager  appeared  in  evening  dress;  but  this  was 
voted  '  too  giddy '  by  the  majority. 

As  Graeme  and  I  passed  up  to  the  Black  Rock 


t64  Black  Rock 

Hotel,  in  the  large  store-room  of  which  the  ball 
was  to  be  held,  we  met  old  man  Nelson  looking 
very  grave. 

'  Going,  Nelson,  aren't  you  ?'  I  said. 

•Yes,'  he  answered  slowly;  ' I'll  drop  in,  though 
I  don't  like  the  look  of  things  much.' 

'  What's  the  matter,  Nelson  ? '  asked  Graeme 
cheerily.     '  There's  no  funeral  on.' 

'Perhaps  not,'  replied  Nelson,  'but  I  wish  Mr. 
Craig  were  home.'  And  then  he  added,  'There's 
Idaho  and  Slavin  together,  and  you  may  bet  the 
devil  isn't  far  off.' 

But  Graeme  laughed  at  his  suspicion,  and  we 
passed  on.  The  orchestra  was  tuning  up.  There 
were  two  violins,  a  concertina,  and  the  'cello. 
Billy  Breen  was  lovingly  fingering  his  instrument, 
now  and  then  indulging  himself  in  a  little  snatch 
of  some  air  that  came  to  him  out  of  his  happier 
past.  He  looked  perfectly  delighted,  and  as  I 
paused  to  listen  he  gave  me  a  proud  glance  out  of 
his  deep,  little,  blue  eyes,  and  went  on  playing 
softly  to  himself.     Presently  Shaw  came  along. 

'That's  good,  Billy,'  he  called  out.  'You've  got 
the  trick  yet,  I  see.' 

But  Billy  only  nodded  and  went  on  playing. 

'  Where's  Nixon  ? '  I  asked. 


The  Breaking  of  the  League         165 

'Gone  to  bed,'  said  Shaw,  'and  I  am  glad  of  it. 
He  finds  that  the  safest  place  on  pay-day  afternoon. 
The  boys  don't  bother  him  there.' 

The  dancing-room  was  lined  on  two  sides  with 
beer-barrels  and  whisky-kegs;  at  one  end  the 
orchestra  sat,  at  the  other  was  a  table  with  refresh- 
ments, where  the  'soft  drinks'  might  be  had. 
Those  who  wanted  anything  else  might  pass 
through  a  short  passage  into  the  bar  just  behind. 

This  was  evidently  a  superior  kind  of  ball,  for  the 
men  kept  on  their  coats,  and  went  through  the 
various  figures  with  faces  of  unnatural  solemnity. 
But  the  strain  upon  their  feelings  was  quite  ap- 
parent, and  it  became  a  question  how  long  it  could 
be  maintained.  As  the  trips  through  the  passage- 
way became  more  frequent  the  dancing  grew  in 
vigour  and  hilarity,  until  by  the  time  supper  was 
announced  the  stiffness  had  sufficiently  vanished 
to  give  no  further  anxiety  to  the  committee. 

But  the  committee  had  other  cause  for  concern, 
inasmuch  as  after  supper  certain  of  the  miners  ap- 
peared with  their  coats  off,  and  proceeded  to 
*  knock  the  knots  out  of  the  floor '  in  break-down 
dances  of  extraordinary  energy.  These,  however, 
were  beguiled  into  the  bar-room  and  '  filled  up '  for 
safety,  for  the  committee  were  determined  that  the 


i66  Black  Rock 

respectability  of  the  ball  should  be  preserved  to  the 
end.  Their  reputation  was  at  stake,  not  in  Black 
Rock  only,  but  at  the  Landing  as  well,  from  which 
most  of  the  ladies  had  come;  and  to  be  shamed  in 
the  presence  of  the  Landing  people  could  not  be 
borne.  Their  difficulties  seemed  to  be  increasing, 
for  at  this  point  something  seemed  to  go  wrong 
with  the  orchestra.  The  'cello  appeared  to  be  wan- 
dering aimlessly  up  and  down  the  scale,  occasion- 
ally picking  up  the  tune  with  animation,  and  then 
dropping  it.  As  Billy  saw  me  approaching,  he 
drew  himself  up  with  great  solemnity,  gravely 
winked  at  me,  and  said  — 

*Shlipped  a  cog,  Misther  Connor!  Mosh  hun- 
fortunate!  Beauchiful  hinstrument,  but  shlips  a 
cog.     Mosh  hunfortunate!' 

And  he  wagged  his  little  head  sagely,  playing  all 
the  while  for  dear  life,  now  second  and  now  lead. 

Poor  Billy !  I  pitied  him,  but  I  thought  chiefly  of 
the  beautiful,  eager  face  that  leaned  toward  him  the 
night  the  League  was  made,  and  of  the  bright  voice 
that  said,  'You'll  sign  with  me,  Billy?'  and  it 
seemed  to  me  a  cruel  deed  to  make  him  lose  his 
grip  of  life  and  hope;  for  this  is  what  the  pledge 
meant  to  him. 

While  I  was  trying  to  get  Billy  away  to  some  safe 


The  Breaking  of  the  League         167 

place,  I  heard  a  great  shouting  in  the  direction  of 
the  bar,  followed  by  trampling  and  scuffling  of  feet 
in  the  passage-way.  Suddenly  a  man  burst 
through,  crying  — 

'Let  me  go!  Stand  back!  I  know  what  I'm 
about!' 

It  was  Nixon,  dressed  in  his  best;  black  clothes, 
blue  shirt,  red  tie,  looking  handsome  enough,  but 
half-drunk  and  wildly  excited.  The  Highland  Fling 
competition  was  on  at  the  moment,  and  Angus 
Campbell,  Lachlan's  brother,  was  representing  the 
lumber  camps  in  the  contest.  Nixon  looked  on  ap- 
provingly for  a  few  moments,  then  with  a  quick 
movement  he  seized  the  little  Highlander,  swung 
him  in  his  powerful  arms  clean  off  the  floor,  and 
deposited  him  gently  upon  a  beer-barrel.  Then  he 
stepped  into  the  centre  of  the  room,  bowed  to  the 
judges,  and  began  a  sailor's  hornpipe. 

The  committee  were  perplexed,  but  after  deliber- 
ation they  decided  to  humour  the  new  competitor, 
especially  as  they  knew  that  Nixon  with  whisky  in 
him  was  unpleasant  to  cross. 

Lightly  and  gracefully  he  went  through  his  steps, 
the  men  crowding  in  from  the  bar  to  admire,  for 
Nixon  was  famed  for  his  hornpipe.  But  when, 
after  the  hornpipe,  he  proceeded  to  execute  a  clog- 


i68  Black  Rock 

dance,  garnished  with  acrobatic  feats,  the  committee 
interfered.  There  were  cries  of  '  Put  him  outl '  and 
•Let  him  alone  I  Go  on,  Nixon!'  And  Nixon 
hurled  back  into  the  crowd  two  of  the  committee 
who  had  laid  remonstrating  hands  upon  him,  and, 
standing  in  the  open  centre,  cried  out  scornfully  — 

'Put  me  out!  Put  me  out!  Certainly!  Help 
yourselves!  Don't  mind  me!'  Then  grinding 
his  teeth,  so  that  I  heard  them  across  the  room, 
he  added  with  savage  deliberation,  'If  any  man 
lays  a  finger  on  me,  I'll — I'll  eat  his  liver  cold.' 

He  stood  for  a  few  moments  glaring  round  upon 
the  company,  and  then  strode  toward  the  bar,  fol- 
lowed by  the  crowd  wildly  yelling.  The  ball  was 
forthwith  broken  up.  I  looked  around  for  Billy, 
but  he  was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  Graeme  touched 
my  arm  — 

'  There's  going  to  be  something  of  a  time,  so  just 
keep  your  eyes  skinned.' 

'  What  are  you  going  to  do  ? '  I  asked. 

'  Do  ?  Keep  myself  beautifully  out  of  trouble, '  he 
replied. 

In  a  few  moments  the  crowd  came  siwging 
back  headed  by  Nixon,  who  was  waving  a 
whisky-bottle  over  his  head  and  yelling  as  one 
possessed. 


The  Breaking  of  the  League         169 

•  Hello ! '  exclaimed  Graeme  softly,  '  1  begin  to  see. 
Look  there  1 ' 

'What's  up?'  I  asked. 

*  You  see  Idaho  and  Slavin  and  their  pets,'  he 
replied. 

'They've  got  poor  Nixon  in  tow.  Idaho  is 
rather  nasty,'  he  added,  'but  I  think  I'll  take  a 
hand  in  this  game;  I've  seen  some  of  Idaho's  work 
before.' 

The  scene  was  one  quite  strange  to  me,  and  was 
wild  beyond  description.  A  hundred  men  filled  the 
room.  Bottles  were  passed  from  hand  to  hand,  and 
men  drank  their  fill.  Behind  the  refreshment-tables 
stood  the  hotelman  and  his  barkeeper  with  their 
coats  off  and  sleeves  rolled  up  to  the  shoulder,  pass- 
ing out  bottles,  and  drawing  beer  and  whisky  from 
two  kegs  hoisted  up  for  that  purpose.  Nixon  was 
in  his  glory.  It  was  his  night.  Every  man  was  to 
get  drunk  at  his  expense,  he  proclaimed,  flinging 
down  bills  upon  the  table.  Near  him  were  some 
League  men  he  was  treating  liberally,  and  never  far 
away  were  Idaho  and  Slavin  passing  bottles,  but 
evidently  drinking  little. 

I  followed  Graeme,  not  feeling  too  comfortable, 
for  this  sort  of  thing  was  new  to  me,  but  admiring 
the  cool  assurance  with  which  he  made  his  way 


170  Black  Rock 

through  the  crowd  that  swayed  and  yelled  and 
swore  and  laughed  in  a  most  disconcerting 
manner. 

•Hello!'  shouted  Nixon  as  he  caught  sight  of 
Graeme.  'Here  you  are!'  passing  him  a  bottle. 
'You're  a  knocker,  a  double-handed  front-door 
knocker.  You  polished  off  old  whisky-soak  here, 
old  demijohn,'  pointing  to  Slavin,  'and  I'll  lay  five 
to  one  we  can  lick  any  blankety  blank  thieves  in  the 
crowd,'  and  he  held  up  a  roll  of  bills. 

But  Graeme  proposed  that  he  should  give  the 
hornpipe  again,  and  the  floor  was  cleared  at  once, 
for  Nixon's  hornpipe  was  very  popular,  and  to- 
night, of  course,  was  in  high  favour.  In  the  midst 
of  his  dance  Nixon  stopped  short,  his  arms  dropped 
to  his  side,  his  face  had  a  look  of  fear,  of  horror. 

There,  before  him,  in  his  riding-cloak  and  boots, 
with  his  whip  in  his  hand  as  he  had  come  from  his 
ride,  stood  Mr.  Craig.  His  face  was  pallid,  and  his 
dark  eyes  were  blazing  with  fierce  light.  As  Nixon 
stopped,  Craig  stepped  forward  to  him,  and  sweep- 
ing his  eyes  round  upon  the  circle  he  said  in  tones 
intense  with  scorn  — 

'You  cowards!  You  get  a  man  where  he's 
weak!  Cowards!  you'd  damn  his  soul  for  his 
money!' 


The  Breaking  of  the  League         171 

There  was  a  dead  silence,  and  Craig,  lifting  his 
hat,  said  solemnly  — 

'  May  God  forgive  you  this  night's  work!' 

Then,  turning  to  Nixon,  and  throwing  his  arm 
over  his  shoulder,  he  said  in  a  voice  broken  and 
husky — 

'Come  on,  Nixon  I  we'll  go!' 

Idaho  made  a  motion  as  if  to  stop  him,  but 
Graeme  stepped  quickly  forward  and  said  sharply, 
'Make  way  there,  can't  you?'  and  the  crowd  fell 
back  and  we  four  passed  through,  Nixon  walking 
as  in  a  dream,  with  Craig's  arm  about  him.  Down 
the  street  we  went  in  silence,  and  on  to  Craig's 
shack,  where  we  found  old  man  Nelson,  with  the 
fire  blazing,  and  strong  coffee  steaming  on  the  stove. 
It  was  he  that  had  told  Craig,  on  his  arrival  from 
the  Landing,  of  Nixon's  fall. 

There  was  nothing  of  reproach,  but  only  gentlest 
pity,  in  tone  and  touch  as  Craig  placed  the  half- 
drunk,  dazed  man  in  his  easy-chair,  took  off  his 
boots,  brought  him  his  own  slippers,  and  gave  him 
coffee.  Then,  as  his  stupor  began  to  overcome 
him,  Craig  put  him  in  his  own  bed,  and  came  forth 
with  a  face  written  over  with  grief. 

'Don't  mind,  old  chap,'  said  Graeme  kindly. 

But  Craig  looked  at  him  without  a  word,  and^ 


172  Black  Rock 

throwing  himself  into  a  chair,  put  his  face  in  his 
hands.  As  we  sat  there  in  silence  the  door  was 
suddenly  pushed  open  and  in  walked  Abe  Baker 
with  the  words,  '  Where  is  Nixon  ? '  and  we  told 
him  where  he  was.  We  were  still  talking  when 
again  a  tap  came  to  the  door,  and  Shaw  came  in 
looking  much  disturbed. 

'Did  you  hear  about  Nixon?'  he  asked.  We 
told  him  what  we  knew. 

'  But  did  you  hear  how  they  got  him  ?'  he  asked, 
excitedly. 

As  he  told  us  the  tale,  the  men  stood  listening, 
with  faces  growing  hard. 

It  appeared  that  after  the  making  of  the  League 
the  Black  Rock  Hotel  man  had  bet  Idaho  one  hun- 
dred to  fifty  that  Nixon  could  not  be  got  to  drink 
before  Easter.  All  Idaho's  schemes  had  failed,  and 
now  he  had  only  three  days  in  which  to  win  his 
money,  and  the  ball  was  his  last  chance.  Here 
again  he  was  balked,  for  Nixon,  resisting  all  en- 
treaties, barred  his  shack  door  and  went  to  bed  be- 
fore nightfall,  according  to  his  invariable  custom  on 
pay-days.  At  midnight  some  of  Idaho's  men  came 
battering  at  the  door  for  admission,  which  Nixon 
reluctantly  granted.  For  half  an  hour  they  used 
every  art  of  persuasion  to  induce  him  to  go  down 


The  Breaking  of  the  League         173 

to  the  ball,  the  glorious  success  of  which  was  glow- 
ingly depicted;  but  Nixon  remained  immovable, 
and  they  took  their  departure,  baffled  and  cursing. 
In  two  hours  they  returned  drunk  enough  to  be 
dangerous,  kicked  at  the  door  in  vain,  finally  gained 
entrance  through  the  window,  hauled  Nixon  out  ol 
bed,  and,  holding  a  glass  of  whisky  to  his  lips, 
bade  him  drink.  But  he  knocked  the  glass  away, 
spilling  the  liquor  over  himself  and  the  bed. 

It  was  drink  or  fight,  and  Nixon  was  ready  to 
fight;  but  after  parley  they  had  a  drink  all  round, 
and  fell  to  persuasion  again.  The  night  was  cold, 
and  poor  Nixon  sat  shivering  on  the  edge  of  his 
bed.  If  he  would  take  one  drink  they  would  leave 
him  alone.  He  need  not  show  himself  so  stiff. 
The  whisky  fumes  filled  his  nostrils.  If  one  drink 
would  get  them  off,  surely  that  was  better  than 
fighting  and  killing  some  one  or  getting  killed.  He 
hesitated,  yielded,  drank  his  glass.  They  sat  about 
him  amiably  drinking,  and  lauding  him  as  a  fine 
fellow  after  all.  One  more  glass  before  they  left. 
Then  Nixon  rose,  dressed  himself,  drank  all  that 
was  left  of  the  bottle,  put  his  money  in  his  pocket, 
and  came  down  to  the  dance,  wild  with  his  old° 
time  madness,  reckless  of  faith  and  pledge,  forget- 
ful of  home,  wife,  babies,  his  whole  being  »b»o'"b«4 


174  Black  Rock 

in  one  great  passion — to  drinic  and  drink  and  drink 
till  he  could  drink  no  more. 

Before  Shaw  had  finished  his  tale,  Craig's  eyes 
were  streaming  with  tears,  and  groans  of  rage  and 
pity  broke  alternately  from  him.  Abe  remained 
speechless  for  a  time,  not  trusting  himself;  but  as 
he  heard  Craig  groan,  'Oh,  the  beasts!  the  fiends!' 
he  seemed  encouraged  to  let  himself  loose,  and  he 
began  swearing  with  the  coolest  and  most  blood- 
curdling deliberation.  Craig  listened  with  evident 
approval,  apparently  finding  complete  satisfaction 
in  Abe's  performance,  when  suddenly  he  seemed  to 
waken  up,  caught  Abe  by  the  arm,  and  said  in  a 
horror-stricken  voice  — 

'Stop!  stop!  God  forgive  us!  we  must  not 
swear  like  this.' 

Abe  stopped  at  once,  and  in  a  surprised  and 
slightly  grieved  voice  said  — 

'  Why !  what's  the  matter  with  that  ?  Ain't  that 
what  you  wanted  ? ' 

'Yes!  yes!  God  forgive  me!  I  am  afraid  it 
was,'  he  answered  hurriedly;  'but  I  must  not.' 

'Oh,  don't  you  worry,'  went  on  Abe  cheerfully; 
'I'll  look  after  that  part;  and  anyway,  ain't  they  the 
blankest  blankety  blank' — going  off  again  into  a 
?olI  of  curses,  till  Craig,  in  an  agony  of  entreaty, 


The  Breaking  of  the  League         175 

succeeded  in  arresting  the  flow  of  profanity  possi- 
ble to  no  one  but  a  mountain  stage-driver.  Abe 
paused  looking  hurt,  and  asked  if  they  did  not 
deserve  everything  he  was  calling  down  upon 
them. 

'Yes,  yes,'  urged  Craig;  'but  that  is  not  our 
business.' 

'Well!  so  I  reckoned,'  replied  Abe,  recognising 
the  limitations  of  the  cloth;  'you  ain't  used  to  it, 
and  you  can't  be  expected  to  do  it ;  but  it  just  makes 
me  feel  good — let  out  o'  school  like — to  properly  do 
'em  up,  the  blank,  blank,'  and  off  he  went  again. 
It  was  only  under  the  pressure  of  Mr.  Craig's 
prayers  and  commands  that  he  finally  agreed  'to 
hold  in,  though  it  was  tough.' 

'  What's  to  be  done  ? '  asked  Shaw. 

'Nothing,'  answered  Craig  bitterly.  He  was  ex- 
hausted with  his  long  ride  from  the  Landing,  and 
broken  with  bitter  disappointment  over  the  ruin  of 
all  that  he  had  laboured  so  long  to  accomplish. 

'Nonsense,'  said  Graeme;  'there's  a  good  deal  to 
do.' 

It  was  agreed  that  Craig  should  remain  with 
Nixon  while  the  others  of  us  should  gather  up  what 
fragments  we  could  find  of  the  broken  League. 
Wc  had  just  opened  the  door,  when  we  met  a  man 


176  Black  Rock 

striding  up  at  a  great  pace.  It  was  Geordie  Craw- 
ford. 

'  Hae  ye  seen  the  lad  ? '  was  his  salutation.  No 
one  replied.  So  I  told  Geordie  of  my  last  sight  of 
Billy  in  the  orchestra. 

'  An'  did  ye  no'  gang  aifter  him  ? '  he  asked  in  in- 
dignant surprise,  adding  with  some  contempt, 
'  Manl  but  ye' re  a  feckless  buddie.' 

'  Billy  gone  too ! '  said  Shaw.  *  They  might  have 
ret  Billy  alone.' 

Poor  Craig  stood  in  a  dumb  agony.  Billy's  fall 
seemed  more  than  he  could  bear.  We  went  out, 
leaving  him  heart-broken  amid  the  ruins  of  his 
League. 


The  League's  Revenge 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  league's  revenge 

As  we  stood  outside  of  Craig's  shack  in  the  dim 
starlight,  we  could  not  hide  from  ourselves  that  w© 
were  beaten.  It  was  not  so  much  grief  as  a  blind 
fury  that  filled  my  heart,  and  looking  at  the  faces  of 
the  men  about  me  I  read  the  same  feeling  there. 
But  what  could  we  do  ?  The  yells  of  carousing 
miners  down  at  Slavin's  told  us  that  nothing  could 
be  done  with  them  that  night.  To  be  so  utterly 
beaten,  and  unfairly,  and  with  no  chance  of  re- 
venge, was  maddening. 

•I'd  like  to  get  back  at  'em,'  said  Abe,  carefully 
repressing  himself. 

'I've  got  it,  men,'  said  Graeme  suddenly.  *This 
town  does  not  require  all  the  whisky  there  is  in  it; ' 
and  he  unfolded  his  plan.  It  was  to  gain  posses- 
sion of  Slavin's  saloon  and  the  bar  of  the  Black 
Rock  Hotel,  and  clear  out  all  the  liquor  to  be  found 
in  both  these  places.  I  did  not  much  like  the  idea; 
and  Geordie  said,  'I'm  ga'en  aifter  the  lad;  I'll  hac 
naethin'  tae  dae  wi'  yon.     It's  no'  that  easy,  an'  it's 

a  sinfu'  waste.*  v 

VJ9 


i8o  Black  Rock 

But  Abe  was  wild  to  try  it,  and  Shaw  was  quite 
willing,  wiiile  old  Nelson  sternly  approved. 

'  Nelson,  you  and  Shaw  get  a  couple  of  our  men 
and  attend  to  the  saloon.  Slavin  and  the  whole 
gang  are  up  at  the  Black  Rock,  so  you  won't  have 
much  trouble;  but  come  to  us  as  soon  as  you  can.' 

And  so  we  went  our  ways. 

Then  followed  a  scene  the  like  of  which  I  can 
never  hope  to  see  again,  and  it  was  worth  a  man's 
seeing.  But  there  were  times  that  night  when  I 
wished  I  had  not  agreed  to  follow  Graeme  in  his 
plot. 

As  we  went  up  to  the  hotel,  I  asked  Graeme, 
*  What  about  the  law  of  this  ? ' 

'Law!'  he  replied  indignantly.  'They  haven't 
troubled  much  about  law  in  the  whisky  business 
here.  They  get  a  keg  of  high  wines  and  some 
drugs  and  begin  operations.  No! '  he  went  on;  'if 
we  can  get  the  crowd  out,  and  ourselves  in,  we'll 
make  them  break  the  law  in  getting  us  out.  The 
law  won't  trouble  us  over  smuggled  whisky.  It 
will  be  a  great  lark,  and  they  won't  crow  too  loud 
over  the  League.' 

I  did  not  like  the  undertaking  at  first;  but  as  I 
thought  of  the  whole  wretched  illegal  business 
flourishing  upon  the  weakness  of  the  men  in  the 


The  League's  Revenge  18 1 

mines  and  camps,  whom  I  had  learned  to  regard  as 
brothers,  and  especially  as  I  thought  of  the  cowards 
that  did  for  Nixon,  I  let  my  scruples  go,  and  de- 
termined, with  Abe,  'to  get  back  at  'em.' 

We  had  no  difficulty  getting  them  out.  Abe  be- 
gan to  yell.  Some  men  rushed  out  to  learn  the 
cause.  He  seized  the  foremost  man,  making  a 
hideous  uproar  all  the  while,  and  in  three  minutes 
had  every  man  out  of  the  hotel  and  a  lively  row 
going  on. 

In  two  minutes  more  Graeme  and  I  had  the  door 
to  the  ball-room  locked  and  barricaded  with  empty 
casks.  We  then  closed  the  door  of  the  bar-room 
leading  to  the  outside.  The  bar-room  was  a 
strongly  built  log-shack,  with  a  heavy  door  secured, 
after  the  manner  of  the  early  cabins,  with  two 
strong  oak  bars,  so  that  we  felt  safe  from  attack 
from  that  quarter. 

The  ball-room  we  could  not  hold  long,  for  the 
door  was  slight  and  entrance  was  possible  through 
the  windows.  But  as  only  a  few  casks  of  liquor 
were  left  there,  our  main  work  v/ould  be  in  the  bar, 
so  that  the  fight  would  be  to  hold  the  passage-way. 
This  we  barricaded  with  casks  and  tables.  But  by 
this  time  the  crowd  had  begun  to  realise  what  had 
happened,  and  were  wildly  yelling  at  door  and  win- 


i82  Black  Rock 

dows.  With  an  axe  which  Graeme  had  brought 
with  him  the  casks  were  soon  stove  in,  and  left  to 
empty  themselves. 

As  I  was  about  to  empty  the  last  cask,  Graeme 
stopped  me,  saying,  *  Let  that  stand  here.  It  will 
help  us.'  And  so  it  did.  *  Now  skip  for  the  barri- 
cade,* yelled  Graeme,  as  a  man  came  crashing 
through  the  window.  Before  he  could  regain  his 
feet,  however,  Graeme  had  seized  him  and  flung 
him  out  upon  the  heads  of  the  crowd  outside.  But 
through  the  other  windows  men  were  coming  in, 
and  Graeme  rushed  for  the  barricade,  followed  by 
two  of  the  enemy,  the  foremost  of  whom  I  received 
at  the  top  and  hurled  back  upon  the  others. 

'Now,  be  quick!'  said  Graeme;  'I'll  hold  this. 
Don't  break  any  bottles  on  the  floor — throw  them 
out  there,'  pointing  to  a  little  window  high  up  in 
the  wall. 

I  made  all  haste.  The  casks  did  not  take  much 
time,  and  soon  the  whisky  and  beer  were  flowing 
over  the  floor.  It  made  me  think  of  Geordie's  re- 
gret over  the  'sinfu'  waste.'  The  bottles  took 
longer,  and  glancing  up  now  and  then  I  saw  that 
Graeme  was  being  hard  pressed.  Men  would  leap, 
two  and  three  at  a  time,  upon  the  barricade,  and 
Graeme's  arms  would  shoot  out,  and  over  they 


The  League's  Revenge  183 

would  topple  upon  the  heads  of  those  nearest.  It 
was  a  great  sight  to  see  him  standing  alone  with  a 
smile  on  his  face  and  the  light  of  battle  in  his  eye, 
coolly  meeting  his  assailants  with  those  terrific, 
lightning-like  blows.  In  fifteen  minutes  my  work 
was  done. 

*  What  next  ? '  I  asked.     '  How  do  we  get  out  ? ' 

*  How  is  the  door  ? '  he  replied. 

I  looked  through  the  port-hole  and  said,  '  A  crowd 
of  men  waiting.' 

'  We'll  have  to  make  a  dash  for  it,  I  fancy,'  he 
replied  cheerfully,  though  his  face  was  covered 
with  blood  and  his  breath  was  coming  in  short 
gasps. 

'Get  down  the  bars  and  be  ready.'  But  even 
as  he  spoke  a  chair  hurled  from  below  caught  him 
on  the  arm,  and  before  he  could  recover,  a  man  had 
cleared  the  barricade  and  was  upon  him  like  a  tiger. 
It  was  Idaho  Jack. 

*  Hold  the  barricade,'  Graeme  called  out,  as  they 
both  went  down. 

I  sprang  to  his  place,  but  I  had  not  much  hope  of 
holding  it  long.  I  had  the  heavy  oak  bar  of  the 
door  in  my  hands,  and  swinging  it  round  my  head 
I  made  the  crowd  give  back  for  a  few  moments. 

Meantime  Graeme  had  shaken  off  his  enemy, 


i«4  Black  Rock 

who  was  circling  about  him  upon  his  tip-toes,  with 
a  long  knife  in  his  hand,  waiting  for  a  chance  to 
spring. 

M  have  been  waiting  for  this  for  some  time,  Mr. 
Graeme,'  he  said  smiling. 

'Yes,'  replied  Graeme,  *  ever  since  I  spoiled  your 
cut-throat  game  in  'Frisco.  How  is  the  little  one  ? ' 
he  added  sarcastically. 

Idaho's  face  lost  its  smile  and  became  distorted 
with  fury  as  he  replied,  spitting  out  his  words, 
*  She-7-is — where  you  will  be  before  I  am  done  with 
you.* 

*Ah!  you  murdered  her  too!  You'll  hang  some 
beautiful  day,  Idaho,'  said  Graeme,  as  Idaho  sprang 
upon  him. 

Graeme  dodged  his  blow  and  caught  his  fore-arm 
with  his  left  hand  and  held  up  high  the  murderous 
knife.  Back  and  forward  they  swayed  over  the 
floor,  slippery  with  whisky,  the  knife  held  high  in 
the  air.  I  wondered  why  Graeme  did  not  strike,  and 
then  I  saw  his  right  hand  hung  limp  from  the  wrist. 
The  men  were  crowding  upon  the  barricade.  I  was 
in  despair.  Graeme's  strength  was  going  fast 
With  a  yell  of  exultant  fury  Idaho  threw  himself 
with  all  his  weight  upon  Graeme,  who  could  only 
cling  to  him.    They  swayed  together  toward  me. 


The  League's  Revenge  185 

but  as  they  fell  I  brought  down  my  bar  upon  the 
upraised  hand  and  sent  the  knife  flying  across  the 
room.  Idaho's  howl  of  rage  and  pain  was  mingled 
with  a  shout  from  below,  and  there,  dashing  the 
crowd  to  right  and  left,  came  old  Nelson,  followed 
by  Abe,  Sandy,  Baptiste,  Shaw,  and  others.  As 
they  reached  the  barricade  it  crashed  down  and, 
carrying  me  with  it,  pinned  me  fast. 

Looking  out  between  the  barrels,  1  saw  what 
froze  my  heart  with  horror.  In  the  fall  Graeme  had 
wound  his  arms  about  his  enemy  and  held  him  in  a 
grip  so  deadly  that  he  could  not  strike;  but 
Graeme's  strength  was  failing,  and  when  I  looked  I 
saw  that  Idaho  was  slowly  dragging  both  across  the 
slippery  floor  to  where  the  knife  lay.  Nearer  and 
nearer  his  outstretched  fingers  came  to  the  knife. 
In  vain  I  yelled  and  struggled.  My  voice  was  lost 
in  the  awful  din,  and  -the  barricade  held  me  fast. 
Above  me,  standing  on  a  barrel-head,  was  Baptiste, 
yelling  like  a  demono  In  vain  I  called  to  him.  My 
fingers  could  just  reach  his  foot,  and  he  heeded  not 
at  all  my  touch.  Slowly  Idaho  was  dragging  his  al- 
most unconscious  victim  toward  the  knife.  His 
fingers  were  touching  the  blade  point,  when,  under 
a  sudden  inspiration,  I  pulled  out  my  penknife, 
opened  it  with   my  teeth,  and  drove  the  blade 


i86  Black  Rock 

into  Baptiste's  foot.  With  a  blood-curdling  yell  he 
sprang  down  and  began  dancing  round  in  his  rage, 
peering  among  the  barrels. 

'Look!  look!'  I  was  calling  in  agony,  and 
pointing;  '  for  heaveti's  sake,  look!  Baptistel' 

The  fingers  had  closed  upon  the  knife,  the  knife 
was  already  high  in  the  air,  when,  with  a  shriek, 
Baptiste  cleared  the  room  at  a  bound,  and,  before 
the  knife  could  fall,  the  little  Frenchman's  boot  had 
caught  the  uplifted  wrist,  and  sent  the  knife  flying 
to  the  wall. 

Then  there  was  a  great  rushing  sound  as  of  wind 
through  the  forest,  and  the  lights  went  out.  When 
I  awoke,  I  found  myself  lying  with  my  head  on 
Graeme's  knees,  and  Baptiste  sprinkling  snow  on 
my  face.  As  I  looked  up  Graeme  leaned  over  me, 
and,  smiling  down  into  my  eyes,  he  said  — 

'Good  boy!  It  was  a  great  fight,  and  we  put  it 
up  well; '  and  then  he  whispered,  '  I  owe  you  my 
life,  my  boy.' 

His  words  thrilled  my  heart  through  and  through, 
for  I  loved  him  as  only  men  can  love  men;  butf 
only  answered — 

'  I  could  not  keep  them  back.' 

'It  was  well  done,'  he  said;  and  I  felt  proud. 

1  confess  I  was  thankful  to  be  so  well  out  of  it* 


The  League's  Revenge  187 

for  Graeme  got  off  with  a  bone  in  his  wrist  broken, 
and  I  with  a  couple  of  ribs  cracked ;  but  had  it  not 
been  for  the  open  barrel  of  whisky  which  kept  them 
occupied  for  a  time,  offering  too  good  a  chance  to 
be  lost,  and  for  the  timely  arrival  of  Nelson,  neither 
of  us  had  ever  seen  the  light  again. 

We  found  Craig  sound  asleep  upon  his  couch. 
His  consternation  on  waking  to  see  us  torn,  bruised, 
and  bloody  was  laughable;  but  he  hastened  to  find 
us  wafm  water  and  bandages,  and  we  soon  felt 
comfortable. 

Baptiste  was  radiant  with  pride  and  light  over  the 
fight,  and  hovered  about  Graeme  and  me  giving 
vent  to  his  feelings  in  admiring  French  and  English 
expletives.  But  Abe  was  disgusted  because  of  the 
failure  at  Slavin's;  for  when  Nelson  looked  in,  he 
saw  Slavin's  French-Canadian  wife  in  charge,  with 
her  baby  on  her  lap,  and  he  came  back  to  Shaw  and 
said,  '  Come  away,  we  can't  touch  this; '  and  Shaw, 
after  looking  in,  agreed  that  nothing  could  be  done. 
A  baby  held  the  fort. 

As  Craig  listened  to  the  account  of  the  fight,  he 
tried  hard  not  to  approve,  but  he  could  not  keep  the 
gleam  out  of  his  eyes;  and  as  1  pictured  Graeme 
dashing  back  the  crowd  thronging  the  barricade  till 
he  was  brought  down  by  the  chair,  Craig  laughed 


i88  Black  Rock 

gently,  and  put  his  hand  on  Graeme's  knee.  And 
as  I  went  on  to  describe  my  agony  while  Idaho's 
fingers  were  gradually  nearing  the  knife,  his  face 
grew  pale  and  his  eyes  grew  wide  with  horror. 

'Baptiste  here  did  the  business,'  1  said,  and  the 
little  Frenchman  nodded  complacently  and  said  — 

'  Dat's  me  for  sure.' 

*  By  the  way,  how  is  your  foot  ? '  asked  Graeme. 

'  He's  fuss-rate.  Dat's  what  you  call — one  bite  of 
— of — dat  leel  bees,  he's  dere,  you  put  your  finger 
dere,  he's  not  dere ! — what  you  call  him  ? ' 

'Flea!'  I  suggested. 

*  Ouil '  cried  Baptiste.     '  Dat's  one  bite  of  flea 

'I  was  thankful  I  was  under  the  barrels,'  I  re- 
plied, smiling. 

'Oui!  Dat's  mak'  me  ver  mad.  I  jump  an' 
swear  mos'  awful  bad.  Dat's  pardon  me,  M'sieu 
Craig,  heh  ? ' 

But  Craig  only  smiled  at  him  rather  sadly.  '  It 
was  awfully  risky,'  he  said  to  Graeme,  'and  it  was 
hardly  worth  it.  They'll  get  more  whisky,  and 
anyway  the  League  is  gone.' 

'Well,' said  Graeme  with  a  sigh  of  satisfaction, 
*it  is  not  quite  such  a  one-sided  affair  as  it  was.' 

And  we  could  say  nothing  in  reply,  for  we  could 
hear  Nixon  snoring  in  the  next  room,  and  no  one 


The  League's  Revenge  189 

had  heard  of  Billy,  and  there  were  others  of  the 
League  that  we  knew  were  even  now  down  at 
Slavin's.  It  was  thought  best  that  all  should  remaip 
in  Mr.  Craig's  shack,  not  knowing  what  might  hap- 
pen ;  and  so  we  lay  where  we  could  and  we  needed 
none  to  sing  us  to  sleep. 

When  I  awoke,  stiff  ana  sore,  it  was  to  find 
breakfast  ready  and  old  man  Nelson  in  charge.  As 
we  were  seated,  Craig  came  in,  and  I  saw  that  he 
was  not  the  man  of  the  night  before.  His  courage 
had  come  back,  his  face  was  quiet  and  his  eye 
clear;  he  was  his  own  man  again. 

'  Geordie  has  been  out  all  night,  but  has  failed  to 
find  Billy,'  he  announced  quietly. 

We  did  not  talk  much;  Graeme  and  I  worried 
with  our  broken  bones,  and  the  others  suffered 
from  a  general  morning  depression.  But,  after 
breakfast,  as  the  men  were  beginning  to  move, 
Craig  took  down  his  Bible,  and  saying  — 

'Wait  a  few  minutes,  men!'  he  read  slowly, 
in  his  beautiful  clear  voice,  that  psalm  for  all  fight- 
ers — 

<  God  is  oar  refuge  and  strength,' 

and  so  on  to  the  noble  words — 

•  The  Lord  of  Hosts  is  with  us ; 
The  God  of  Jacob  is  our  refuge.' 


19®  Black  Rock 

How  the  mighty  words  pulled  us  together,  lifted  us 
till  we  grew  ashamed  of  our  ignoble  rage  and  of 
our  ignoble  depression ! 

And  then  Craig  prayed  in  simple,  straight-going 
words.  There  was  acknowledgment  of  failure, 
but  I  knew  he  was  thinking  chiefly  of  himself;  and 
there  was  gratitude,  and  that  was  for  the  men  about 
him,  and  I  felt  my  face  burn  with  shame ;  and  there 
was  petition  for  help,  and  we  all  thought  of  Nixon, 
and  Billy,  and  the  men  wakening  from  their  de- 
bauch at  Slavin's  this  pure,  bright  morning.  And 
then  he  asked  that  we  might  be  made  faithful  and 
worthy  of  God,  whose  battle  it  was.  Then  we  all 
stood  up  and  shook  hands  with  him  in  silence,  and 
every  man  knew  a  covenant  was  being  made.  But 
none  saw  his  meeting  with  Nixon.  He  sent  us  all 
away  before  that. 

Nothing  was  heard  oi  the  destruction  of  the  hotel 
stock-in-trade.  Unpleasant  questions  would  cer- 
tainly be  asked,  and  the  proprietor  decided  to  let 
bad  alone.  On  the  point  of  respectability  the  suc- 
cess of  the  ball  was  not  conspicuous,  but  the  anti- 
League  men  were  content,  if  not  jubilant. 

Billy  Breen  was  found  by  Geordie  late  in  the 
afternoon  in  his  own  old  and  deserted  shack,  breath- 
ing heavily,  covered  up  in  his  filthy,  mouldering 


The  League's  Revenge  191 

bed-clothes,  with  a  half-empty  bottle  of  whisky  at 
his  side.  Geordie's  grief  and  rage  were  beyond 
even  his  Scotch  control.  He  spoke  few  words,  but 
these  were  of  such  concentrated  vehemence  that  no 
one  felt  the  need  of  Abe's  assistance  in  vocabulary. 
Poor  Billy!  We  carried  him  to  Mrs.  Mavor's 
home;  put  him  in  a  warm  bath,  rolled  him  in 
blankets,  and  gave  him  little  sips  of  hot  water,  then 
of  hot  milk  and  coffee;  as  I  had  seen  a  clever  doc- 
tor in  the  hospital  treat  a  similar  case  of  nerve  and 
heart  depression.  But  the  already  weakened  sys- 
tem could  not  recover  from  the  awful  shock  of  the 
exposure  following  the  debauch;  and  on  Sunday 
afternoon  we  saw  that  his  heart  was  failing  fast. 
All  day  the  miners  had  been  dropping  in  to  inquire 
after  him,  for  Billy  had  been  a  great  favourite  in 
other  days,  and  the  attention  of  the  town  had  been 
admiringly  centred  upon  his  fight  of  these  last 
weeks.  It  was  with  no  ordinary  sorrow  that  the 
news  of  his  condition  was  received.  As  Mrs. 
Mavor  sang  to  him,  his  large  coarse  hands  moved 
in  time  to  the  music,  but  he  did  not  open  his  eyes 
till  he  heard  Mr.  Craig's  voice  in  the  next  room; 
then  he  spoke  his  name,  and  Mr.  Craig  was  kneel- 
ing beside  him  in  a  moment.  The  words  came 
slowly  — 


192  Black  Rock 

'Oi  tried— to  fight  it  hout— but — oi  got  beaten. 
Hit  'urts  to  think  'E's  hashamed  o'  me.  Oi'd  liice  t'a 
done  better — oi  would.' 

*  Ashamed  of  you,  Billy ! '  said  Craig,  in  a  voice 
that  broke.     'Not  He.' 

'  An' — ^ye  hall — 'elped  me  so ! '  he  went  on.  '  Oi 
wish  oi'd  'a  done  better — oi  do,'  and  his  eyes  sought 
Geordie,  and  then  rested  on  Mrs.  Mavor,  who 
smiled  back  at  him  with  a  world  of  love  in  her  eyes. 

'You  hain't  hashamed  o*  me — ^yore  heyes  saigh 
so,'  he  said  looking  at  her. 

'No,  Billy,'  she  said,  and  I  wondered  at  her 
steady  voice,  'not  a  bit-  Why,  Billy,  I  am  proud 
of  you.* 

He  gazed  up  at  her  with  wonder  and  ineffable 
love  in  his  little  eyes,  then  lifted  his  hand  slightly 
toward  her.  She  knelt  quickly  and  took  it  in  both 
of  hers,  stroking  it  and  kissing  it. 

'  Oi  haught  t'a  done  better.  Oi  'm  hawf ul  sorry 
oi  went  back  on  'Im.  Hit  was  the  lemonaide.  The 
boys  didn't  mean  no  'arm — but  hit  started  the  'ell 
hinside.' 

Geordie  hurled  out  some  bitter  words. 

'Don't  be  'ard  on  'em,  Geordie;  they  didn't  mean 
no  'arm,'  he  said,  and  his  eyes  kept  waiting  till 
Geordie  said  hurriedly  — 


The  League's  Revenge  193 

'Nal  nal  lad — a'll  juist  leave  them  till  the  Al- 
michty/ 

Then  Mrs.  Mavor  sang  softly,  smoothing  his 
hand,  'Just  as  I  am,' and  Billy  dozed  quietly  for 
half  an  hour. 

When  he  awoke  again  his  eyes  turned  to  Mr. 
Craig,  and  they  were  troubled  and  anxious. 

'Oi  tried  'ard.  Oi  wanted  to  win,'  he  struggled 
to  say.  By  this  time  Craig  was  master  of  himself, 
and  he  answered  in  a  clear,  distinct  voice  — 

'Listen,  Billy!  You  made  a  great  fight,  and  you 
are  going  to  win  yet.  And  besides,  do  you  remem- 
ber the  sheep  that  got  lost  over  the  mountains  ? ' — 
this  parable  was  Billy's  special  delight — *  He  didn't 
beat  it  when  He  got  it,  did  He  ?  He  took  it  in  His 
arms  and  carried  it  home.    And  so  He  will  you.' 

And  Billy,  keeping  his  eyes  fastened  on  Mr. 
Craig,  simply  said  — 

'Will'E?' 

'  Sure ! '  said  Craig. 

*  Will  'E  ? '  he  repeated,  turning  his  eye*  upon 
Mrs.  Mavor. 

'Why,  yes,  Billy,'  she  answered  cheerily,  though 
the  tears  were  streaming  from  her  eyes.  *  I  would, 
and  He  loves  you  far  more.' 

He  looked  at  her,  smiled,  and  closed  his  eyes.     I 


194  Black  Rock 

put  my  hand  on  his  heart;  it  was  fluttering  feebly. 
Again  a  troubled  look  passed  over  his  face. 

«My — poor — hold — mother,'  he  whispered,  'she's 
— hin — the — wukus.' 

*I  shall  take  care  of  her,  Billy,'  said  Mrs.  Mavor, 
In  a  clear  voice,  and  again  Billy  smiled.  Then  he 
turned  his  eyes  to  Mr.  Craig,  and  from  him  to 
Geordie,  and  at  last  to  Mrs.  Mavor,  where  they 
rested.  She  bent  over  and  kissed  him  twice  on  the 
forehead. 

*Tell  'er,*  he  said,  with  difficulty,  *'E's  took  me 
'ome.' 

•Yes,  Billy  1'  she  cried»  gazing  into  his  glazing 
eyes.  He  tried  to  lift  her  hand.  She  kissed  him 
again. .   He  drew  one  deep  breath  and  lay  quite  still. 

*  Thank  the  blessed  Saviour!'  said  Mr.  Craig, 
reverently.     '  He  has  taken  him  home.' 

But  Mrs.  Mavor  Jield  the  dead  hand  tight  and 
sobbed  out  passionately,  *0h,  Billy,  Billy!  you 
helped  me  once  when  1  needed  help!  I  cannot  for- 
get!' 

And  Geordie,  groaning,  *Ay,  laddie,  laddie,* 
passed  out  into  the  fading  light  of  the  early  even- 
ing. 

Next  day  no  one  went  to  work,  for  to  all  It 
seemed  a  sacred  day.    They  carried  him  into  the 


The  League's  Revenge  195 

little  church,  and  there  Mr.  Craig  spoke  of  his  long, 
hard  fight,  and  of  his  final  victory ;  for  he  died  with- 
out a  fear,  and  with  love  to  the  men  who,  not 
knowing,  had  been  his  death.  And  there  was  no 
bitterness  in  any  heart,  for  Mr.  Craig  read  the  story 
of  the  sheep,  and  told  how  gently  He  had  taken 
Billy  home;  but,  though  no  word  was  spoken,  it 
was  there  the  League  was  made  again. 

They  laid  him  under  the  pines,  beside  Lewis 
Mavor;  and  the  miners  threw  sprigs  of  evergreen 
into  the  open  grave.  When  Slavin,  sobbing  bit- 
terly, brought  his  sprig,  no  one  stopped  him,  though 
all  thought  it  strange. 

As  we  turned  to  leave  the  grave,  the  light  from 
the  evening  sun  came  softly  through  the  gap  in  the 
mountains,  and,  filling  the  valley,  touched  the  trees 
and  the  little  mound  beneath  with  glory.  And  I 
thought  of  that  other  glory,  which  is  brighter  than 
the  sun,  and  was  not  sorry  that  poor  Billy's 
weary  fight  was  over;  and  I  could  not  help  agree- 
ing with  Craig  that  it  was  there  the  League  had  its 
revenge. 


What  Came  to  Slavin 


CHAPTER  X 

WHAT  CAME  TO  SLAVIN 

Billy  Breen's  legacy  to  the  Black  Rock  mining 
camp  was  a  new  League,  which  was  more  than  the 
old  League  re-made.  The  League  was  new  in  its 
spirit  and  in  its  methods.  The  impression  made 
upon  the  camp  by  Billy  Breen's  death  was  very 
remarkable,  and  I  have  never  been  quite  able  to 
account  for  it.  The  mood  of  the  community  at  the 
time  was  peculiarly  susceptible.  Billy  was  one  of 
the  oldest  of  the  old-timers.  His  decline  and  fall 
had  been  a  long  process,  and  his  struggle  for  life 
and  manhood  was  striking  enough  to  arrest  the 
attention  and  awaken  the  sympathy  of  the  whole 
camp.  We  instinctively  side  with  a  man  in  his 
struggle  for  freedom ;  for  we  feel  that  freedom  is 
native  to  him  and  to  us.  The  sudden  collapse  of 
the  struggle  stirred  the  men  with  a  deep  pity  for  the 
beaten  man,  and  a  deep  contempt  for  those  who  had 
tricked  him  to  his  doorn.  But  though  the  pity  and 
the  contempt  remained,  the  gloom  was  relieved  and 
the  sense  of  defeat  removed  from  the  men's  minds 
199 


aoo  Black  Rock 

by  the  transforming  glory  of  Billy's  last  hour.  Mr. 
Craig,  reading  of  the  tragedy  of  Billy's  death,  trans- 
figured defeat  into  victory,  and  this  was  generally 
accepted  by  the  men  as  the  true  reading,  though 
to  them  it  was  full  of  mystery.  But  they  could 
all  understand  and  appreciate  at  full  value  the 
spirit  that  breathed  through  the  words  of  the 
dying  man:  'Don't  be  'ard  on  'em,  they  didn't 
mean  no  'arm.'  And  this  was  the  new  spirit  of  the 
League. 

It  was  this  spirit  that  surprised  Slavin  into  sud- 
den tears  at  the  grave's  side.  He  had  come  braced 
for  curses  and  vengeance,  for  all  knew  it  was 
he  who  had  doctored  Billy's  lemonade,  and  instead 
of  vengeance  the  message  from  the  dead  that 
echoed  through  the  voice  of  the  living  was  one  of 
pity  and  forgiveness. 

But  the  days  of  the  League's  negative,  defensive 
warfare  were  over.  The  fight  was  to  the  death, 
and  now  the  war  was  to  be  carried  into  the  enemy's 
country.  The  League  men  proposed  a  thoroughly 
equipped  and  well-conducted  coffee-room,  reading- 
room,  and  hall,  to  parallel  the  enemy's  lines  of 
operation,  and  defeat  them  with  their  own  weapons 
upon  their  own  ground.  The  main  outlines  of  the 
scheme  were  clearly  defined  and  were  easily  seen. 


What  Came  to  Slavin  201 

but  the  perfecting  of  the  details  called  for  all  Craig's 
tact  and  good  sense.  When,  for  instance,  Vernon 
Winton,  who  had  charge  of  the  entertainment  de- 
partment, came  for  Craig's  opinion  as  to  a  minstrel 
troupe  and  private  theatricals,  Craig  was  prompt 
with  his  answer — 
'Anything  clean  goes/ 

•  A  nigger  show  ? '  asked  Winton. 

'Depends  upon  the  niggers,'  replied  Craig  with 
a  gravely  comic  look,  shrewdly  adding,  '  ask  Mrs. 
Mavor;'  and  so  the  League  Minstrel  and  Dramatic 
Company  became  an  established  fact,  and  proved, 
as  Craig  afterward  told  me,  '  a  great  means  of  grace 
to  the  camp.' 

Shaw  had  charge  of  the  social  department  whose 
special  care  it  was  to  see  that  the  men  were  made 
welcome  to  the  cosy,  cheerful  reading-room,  where 
they  might  chat,  smoke,  read,  write,  or  play  games, 
according  to  fancy. 

But  Craig  felt  that  the  success  or  failure  of  the 
scheme  would  largely  depend  upon  the  character 
of  the  Resident  Manager,  who,  while  caring  for 
reading-room  and  hall,  would  control  and  operate 
the  important  department  represented  by  the  coffee- 
room. 

*  At  this  point  the  whole  business  may  come  *o 


202  Black  Rock 

grief,'  he  said  to  Mrs.  Mavor,  without  whose  counsel 
nothing  was  done. 

*  Why  come  to  grief  ? '  she  asked  brightly. 

*  Because  if  we  don't  get  the  right  man,  that's 
what  will  happen,'  he  replied  in  a  tone  that  spoke 
of  anxious  worry. 

'But  we  shall  get  the  right  man,  never  fear.' 
Her  serene  courage  never  faltered.  *  He  will  come 
to  us.' 

Craig  turned  and  gazed  at  her  in  frank  admiration 
and  said  — 

*lf  I  only  had  your  courage!' 

'  Courage! '  she  answered  quickly.  '  It  is  not  for 
you  to  say  that; '  and  at  his  answering  look  the  red 
came  into  her  cheek  and.  the  depths  in  her  eyes 
glowed,  and  I  marvelled  and  wondered,  looking  at 
Craig's  cool  face,  whether  his  blood  were  running 
evenly  through  his  veins.  But  his  voice  was  quiet, 
a  shade  too  quiet  I  thought,  as  he  gravely  replied  — 

'•I  would  often  be  a  coward  but  for  the  shame  of 
it.' 

And  so  the  League  waited  for  the  man  to  come, 
who  was  to  be  Resident  Manager  and  make  the 
new  enterprise  a  success.  And  come  he  did ;  but 
the  manner  of  his  coming  was  so  extraordinary, 
that  I  have  believed  in  the  doctrine  of  a  special 


What  Came  to  Slavin  203 

providence  ever  since ;  for  as  Craig  said,  '  If  he  had 
come  straight  from  Heaven  I  could  not  have  been 
more  surprised.' 

While  the  League  was  thus  waiting,  its  inter- 
est centred  upon  Slavin,  chiefly  because  he  repre- 
sented more  than  any  other  the  forces  of  the  enemy; 
and  though  Billy  Breen  stood  between  him  and  the 
vengeance  of  the  angry  men  who  would  have  made 
short  work  of  him  and  his  saloon,  nothing  could 
save  him  from  himself,  and  after  the  funeral  Slavin 
went  to  his  bar  and  drank  whisky  as  he  had  never 
drunk  before.  But  the  more  he  drank  the  fiercer 
and  gloomier  he  became,  and  when  the  men  drink- 
ing with  him  chaffed  him,  he  swore  deeply  and 
with  such  threats  that  they  left  him  alone. 

It  did  not  help  Slavin  either  to  have  Nixon  stride 
in  through  the  crowd  drinking  at  his  bar  and  give 
him  words  of  warning. 

'It  is  not  your  fault,  Slavin,'  he  said  in  slow, 
cool  voice,  '  that  you  and  your  precious  crew  didn't 
sent  me  to  my  death,  too.  You've  won  your  bet, 
but  I  want  to  say,  that  next  time,  though  you  are 
seven  to  one,  or  ten  times  that,  when  any  of  you 
boys  offer  me  a  drink  I'll  take  you  to  mean  fight, 
and  I'll  not  disappoint  you,  and  some  one  will  be 
killed,'  and  so  saying  he  strode  out  again,  leaving 


ao4  Black  Rock 

a  mean-looking  crowd  of  men  behind  him.  All 
who  had  not  been  concerned  in  the  business  at 
Nixon's  shacic  expressed  approval  of  his  position, 
and  hoped  he  would  *  see  it  through.' 

But  the  impression  of  Nixon's  words  upon  Slavin 
was  as  nothing  compared  with  that  made  by  Geordie 
Crawford.  It  was  not  what  he  said  so  much  as  the 
manner  of  awful  solemnity  he  carried.  Geordie 
was  struggling  conscientiously  to  keep  his  promise 
to  'not  be  'ard  on  the  boys,'  and  found  consider- 
nble  relief  in  remembering  that  he  had  agreed  '  to 
leave  them  tae  the  Almichty.'  But  the  manner  of 
leaving  them  was  so  solemnly  awful,  that  I  could 
not  wonder  that  Slavin's  superstitious  Irish  nature 
supplied  him  with  supernatural  terrors.  It  was  the 
second  day  after  the  funeral  that  Geordie  and  I 
were  walking  toward  Slavin's.  There  was  a  great 
shout  of  laughter  as  we  drew  near. 

Geordie  stopped  short,  and  saying,  'We'll  juist 
gang  in  a  meenute,'  passed  through  the  crowd  and 
up  to  the  bar. 

'Michael  Slavin,'  began  Geordie,  and  the  men 
stared  in  dead  silence,  with  their  glasses  in  their 
hands.  'Michael  Slavin,  a'  promised  the  lad  a'd 
bear  ye  nae  ill  wull,  but  juist  leave  ye  tae  the  Al- 
michty ;  an'  I  want  tae  tell  ye  that  a'm  keepin'  ma 


What  Came  to  Slavin  205 

wur-r-d.  But' — and  here  he  raised  his  hand,  and 
his  voice  became  preternaturally  solemn — '  his  bluid 
is  upon  yer  han's.     Do  ye  no'  see  it  ? ' 

His  voice  rose  sharply,  and  as  he  pointed,  Slavin 
instinctively  glanced  at  his  hands,  and  Geordie 
added  — 

'  Ay,  and  the  Lord  will  require  it  o'  you  and  yer 
hoose.' 

They  told  me  that  Slavin  shivered  as  if  taken 
with  ague  after  Geordie  went  out,  and  though  he 
laughed  and  swore,  he  did  not  stop  drinking  till  he 
sank  into  a  drunken  stupor  and  had  to  he  carried 
to  bed.  His  little  French-Canadian  wife  could  not 
understand  the  change  that  had  come  over  her 
husband. 

'He's  like  one  bear,'  she  confided  to  Mrs. 
Mavor,  to  whom  she  was  showing  her  baby  of  a 
year  old.  'He's  not  kees  me  one  tam  dis  day. 
He's  mos  hawful  bad,  he's  not  even  look  at  de 
baby.'  And  this  seemed  sufficient  proof  that 
something  was  seriously  wrong;  for  she  went  on 
to  say  — 

'^'e's  tink  more  for  dat  leel  baby  dan  for  de 
whole  worl' ;  he's  tink  more  for  dat  baby  dan  for 
me,'  but  she  shrugged  her  pretty  little  shoulders  In 
deprecation  of  her  speech. 


2o6  Black  Rock 

'You  must  pi  ay  for  him,'  said  Mrs.  Mavor,  'and 
all  will  come  right' 

* Ahl  madame! '  she  replied  earnestly,  'every  day, 
every  day,  I  pray  la  sainte  Vierge  et  tous  les  saints 
for  him.' 

'You  must  pray  to  your  Father  in  heaven  for 
him.' 

'Ah!  oui!  I  weel  pray,'  and  Mrs.  Mavor  sent  her 
away  bright  with  smiles,  and  with  new  hope  and 
courage  in  her  heart. 

She  had  very  soon  need  of  all  her  courage,  for  at 
the  week's  end  her  baby  fell  dangerously  ill.  Slav- 
in's  anxiety  and  fear  were  not  relieved  much  by  the 
reports  the  men  brought  him  from  time  to  time  of 
Geordie's  ominous  forebodings;  for  Geordie  had  no 
doubt  but  that  the  Avenger  of  Blood  was  hot  upon 
Slavin's  trail ;  and  as  the  sickness  grew,  he  became 
confirmed  in  this  conviction.  While  he  could  not  be 
said  to  find  satisfaction  in  Slavin's  impending  afflic- 
tion, he  could  hardly  hide  his  complacency  in  the 
promptness  of  Providence  in  vindicating  his  theory 
of  retribution. 

But  Geordie's  complacency  was  somewhat  rudely 
shocked  by  Mr.  Craig's  answer  to  his  theory  ont 
day. 

*  You  read  your  Bible  to  little  profit,  it  seems  to 


What  Came  to  Slavin  207 

mc,  Geordie:  or,  perhaps,  you  have  never  read  the 
Master's  teaching  about  the  Tower  of  Siloam.  Bet- 
ter read  that  and  take  that  warning  to  yourself.' 

Geordie  gazed  after  Mr.  Craig  as  he  turned  away, 
and  muttered  — 

*  The  toor  o'  Siloam,  is  it  ?  •  Ay,  a'  ken  fine  aboot 
the  toor  o'  Siloam,  and  aboot  the  toor  o'  Babel  as 
weel;  an'  a've  read,  too,  about  the  blaspheemious 
Herod,  an'  sic  like.  Man,  but  he's  a  hot-heided 
laddie,  and  lacks  discreemeenation.' 

*  What  about  Herod,  Geordie  ? '  I  asked. 

'Aboot  Herod?' — with  a  strong  tinge  of  con- 
tempt in  his  tone.  '  Aboot  Herod  ?  Man,  hae  ye 
no'  read  in  the  Screepturs  aboot  Herod  an'  the 
wur-r-ms  in  the  wame  o'  him  ?' 

'Oh  yes,  I  see,'  I  hastened  to  answer. 

'Ay,  a  fule  can  see  what's  flapped  in  nis  face,* 
with  which  bit  of  proverbial  philosophy  he  sud- 
denly left  me.  But  Geordie  thenceforth  contented 
himself,  in  Mr.  Craig's  presence  at  least,  with  omi- 
nous head-shakings,  equally  aggravating,  and  im- 
possible to  answer. 

That  same  night,  however,  Geordie  showed  that 
with  all  his  theories  he  had  a  man's  true  heart,  for 
he  came  in  haste  to  Mrs.  Mavor  to  say: 

*  Ye'Il  be  needed  ower  yonder,  a'm  thinkin'.' 


2o8  Black  Rock 

'Why?  Is  the  baby  wotse?  Have  you  been 
in?' 

'Na,  na,'  replied  Geordie  cautiously,  *a'll  no  gang 
where  a'm  no  wanted.  But  yon  puir  thing,  ye  can 
hear  ootside  weepin'  and  moanin'. 

'She'll  maybe  need  ye  tae,'  he  went  on  dubiously 
to  me.  '  Ye' re  a  kind  o'  doctor,  a'  hear,'  not  com- 
mitting himself  to  any  opinion  as  to  my  profes- 
sional value.  But  Slavin  would  have  none  of  me, 
having  got  the  doctor  sober  enough  to  prescribe. 

The  interest  of  the  camp  in  Slavin  was  greatly 
increased  by  the  illness  of  his  baby,  which  was  to 
him  as  the  apple  of  his  eye.  There  were  a  few 
who,  impressed  by  Geordie's  profound  convictions 
upon  the  matter,  were  inclined  to  favour  the  retri- 
bution theory,  and  connect  the  baby's  illness  with 
the  vengeance  of  the  Almighty.  Among  these  few 
was  Slavin  himself,  and  goaded  by  his  remorseful 
terrors  he  sought  relief  in  drink.  But  this  brought 
him  only  deeper  and  fiercer  gloom ;  so  that  between 
her  suffering  child  and  her  savagely  despairing  hus- 
band, the  poor  mother  was  desperate  with  terror 
and  grief. 

'Ahl  madame,' she  sobbed  to  Mrs.  Mavor,  'my 
heart  is  broke  for  him.  He's  heet  noting  for  tree 
days,  but  jis  dreenk,  dreenk,  dreenk.' 


What  Came  to  Slavin  209 

The  next  day  a  man  came  for  me  in  haste.  The 
baby  was  dying  and  the  doctor  was  drunk.  I 
found  the  little  one  in  a  convulsion  lying  across 
Mrs.  Mayor's  knees,  the  mother  kneeling  beside  it, 
wringing  her  hands  in  a  dumb  agony,  and  Slavin 
standing  near,  silent  and  suffering.  I  glanced  at  the 
bottle  of  medicine  upon  the  table  and  asked  Mrs. 
Mavor  the  dose,  and  found  the  baby  had  been  poi- 
soned. My  look  of  horror  told  Slavin  something 
was  wrong,  and  striding  to  me  he  caught  my  arm 
and  asked — 

'  What  is  it  ?    Is  the  medicine  wrong  ? ' 

I  tried  to  put  him  oflF,  but  his  grip  tightened  till 
his  fingers  seemed  to  reach  the  bone. 

'The  dose  is  certainly  too  large;  but  let  me  go,  I 
must  do  something.' 

He  let  me  go  at  once,  saying  in  a  voice  that  made 
my  heart  sore  for  him,  *  He  has  killed  my  baby ;  he 
has  killed  my  baby.'  And  then  he  cursed  the 
doctor  with  awful  curses,  and  with  a  look  of  such 
murderous  fury  on  his  face  that  I  was  glad  the 
doctor  was  too  drunk  to  appear. 

His  wife  hearing  his  curses,  and  understanding 
the  cause,  broke  out  into  wailing  hard  to  bear. 

'Ah!  mon  petit  ange!  It  is  dat  wheeskey  dat'« 
keel  mon  baby.    Ah!  mon  cheri,  mon  amour.    Ah  I 


210  Black  Rock 

mon  Dieul  Ah,  Michael,  how  often  I  say  that 
wheeskey  he's  not  good  ting.' 

It  was  more  than  Siavin  could  bear,  and  with 
awful  curses  he  passed  out.  Mrs.  Mavor  laid  the 
baby  in  its  crib,  for  the  convulsion  had  passed 
away ;  -and  putting  her  arms  about  the  wailing  little 
Frenchwoman,  comforted  and  soothed  her  as  a 
mother  might  her  child. 

'  And  you  must  help  your  husband,'  I  heard  her  say. 
'  He  will  need  you  more  than  ever.    Think  of  him.' 

*  Ah!  oui!  I  weel,'  was  the  quick  reply,  and  from 
that  moment  there  was  no  more  wailing. 

It  seemed  no  more  than  a  minute  till  Siavin  came 
in  again,  sober,  quiet,  and  steady;  the  passion  was 
all  gone  from  his  face,  and  only  the  grief  remained. 

As  we  stood  leaning  over  the  sleeping  child  the 
little  thing  opened  its  eyes,  saw  its  father,  and 
smiled.  It  was  too  much  for  him.  The  big  man 
dropped  on  his  knees  with  a  dry  sob. 

'  Is  there  no  chance  at  all,  at  all  ? '  he  whispered, 
but  I  could  give  him  no  hope.  He  immediately 
rose,  and  pulling  himself  together,  stood  perfectly 
quiet. 

A  new  terror  sfcixed  upon  the  mother. 

'My  baby  is  not — what  you  call  it?'  going 
through  the  form  of  baptism.     '  An'  he  will  not 


What  Came  to  Slavin  2li 

come  to  la  sainte  Vierge,'  she  said,  crossing  herself 

'Do  not  fear  for  your  little  one,'  said  Mrs.  Mavor, 
still  with  her  arms  about  her.  *  The  good  Saviour 
will  take  your  darling  into  His  own  arms.' 

But  the  mother  would  not  be  comforted  by  this. 
And  Slavin  too,  was  uneasy. 

'  Where  is  Father  Goulet  ?'  he  asked. 

'  Ah !  you  were  not  good  to  the  holy  p6re  de  las 
tam,  Michael,' she  replied  sadly.  'The  saints  are 
not  please  for  you.' 

'  Where  is  the  priest  ?'  he  demanded. 

•I  know  not  for  sure.    At  de  Landin',  dat's  lak.' 

M'll  go  for  him,'  he  said.  But  his  wife  clung  to 
him,  beseeching  him  not  to  leave  her,  and  indeed 
he  was  loth  to  leave  his  little  one. 

I  found  Craig  and  told  him  the  difficulty.  With 
his  usual  promptness,  he  was  ready  with  a  solu- 
tion. 

'Nixon  has  a  team.  He  will  go.'  Then  he 
added,  '  I  wonder  if  they  would  not  like  me  to  bap- 
tise their  little  one.  Father  Goulet  and  I  have  ex- 
changed offices  before  now.  I  remember  how  he 
came  to  one  of  my  people  in  my  absence,  when  she 
was  dying,  read  with  her,  prayed  with  her,  com- 
forted her,  and  helped  her  across  the  river.  He  is 
a  good  soul,  and  has  no  nonsense  about  him.    Send 


212  Black  Rock 

for  me  if  you  think  there  is  need.  It  will  make  no 
difference  to  the  baby,  but  it  will  comfort  the 
mother.' 

Nixon  was  willing  enough  to  go;  but  when  he 
came  to  the  door  Mrs.  Mavor  saw  the  hard  look  in 
his  face.  He  had  not  forgotten  his  wrong,  for  day 
by  day  he  was  still  fighting  the  devil  within  that 
Slavin  had  called  to  life.  But  Mrs.  Mavor,  under 
cover  of  getting  him  instructions,  drew  him  into 
the  room.  While  listening  to  her,  his  eyes  wan- 
dered from  one  to  the  other  of  the  group  till  they 
rested  upon  the  little  white  face  in  the  crib.  She 
noticed  the  change  in  his  face. 

'  They  fear  the  little  one  will  never  see  the  Sav- 
iour if  it  is  not  baptised,'  she  said,  in  a  low  tone. 

He  was  eager  to  go. 

'I'll  do  my  best  to  get  the  priest,*  he  said,  and 
was  gone  on  his  sixty  miles'  race  with  death. 

The  long  afternoon  wore  on,  but  before  it  was 
half  gone  I  saw  Nixon  could  not  win,  and  that  the 
priest  would  be  too  late,  so  I  sent  for  Mr.  Craig. 
From  the  moment  he  entered  the  room  he  took 
command  of  us  all.  He  was  so  simple,  so  manly, 
so  tender,  the  hearts  of  the  parents  instinctively 
turned  to  him. 

As  he  was  about  to  proceed  with  the  baptism, 


What  Came  to  Slav  in  213 

the  mother  whispered  to  Mrs.  Mavor,  who  hesitat- 
ingly asked  Mr.  Craig  if  he  would  object  to  using 
holy  water. 

'To  me  it  is  the  same  as  any  other,'  he  replied 
gravely. 

'An'  will  he  make  the  good  sign?'  asked  the 
mother  timidly. 

And  so  the  child  was  baptised  by  the  Presby- 
terian minister  with  holy  water  and  with  the  sign 
of  the  cross.  I  don't  suppose  it  was  orthodox,  and 
it  rendered  chaotic  some  of  my  religious  notions, 
but  I  thought  more  of  Craig  that  moment  than  ever 
before.  He  was  more  man  than  minister,  or  per- 
haps he  was  so  good  a  minister  that  day  because  so 
much  a  man.  As  he  read  about  the  Saviour  and 
the  children  and  the  disciples  who  tried  to  get  in 
between  them,  and  as  he  told  us  the  story  in  his 
own  simple  and  beautiful  way,  and  then  went  on 
to  picture  the  home  of  the  little  children,  and  the 
same  Saviour  in  the  midst  of  them,  I  felt  my  heart 
grow  warm,  and  I  could  easily  understand  the  cry 
of  the  mother — 

•  Oh,  mon  J6su,  prenez  moi  aussi,  take  me  wiz 
mon  mignon.* 

The  cry  wakened  Slavin's  heart,  and  he  said 
huskily  — 


SI4  Black  Rock 

'Oh!  Annette  1  Annette  I' 

•Ah,  ouil  an'  Michael  too!'  Then  to  Mr. 
Craig— 

'  You  tink  He's  tak  me  some  day  ?    Eh  ?* 

'All  who  love  Him,'  he  replied. 

*  An'  Michael  too  ? '  she  asked,  her  eyes  searching 
his  face.     *  An'  Michael  too  ? ' 

But  Craig  only  replied:  'AH  who  love  Him.* 

'  Ah,  Michael,  you  must  pray  le  bon  Jesu.  He's 
garde  notre  mignon.'  And  then  she  bent  over  the 
babe,  whispering  — 

'Ah,  mon  cheri,  mon  amour,  adieu!  adieu!  mon 
ange! '  till  Slavin  put  his  arms  about  her  and  took 
her  away,  for  as  she  was  whispering  her  farewells, 
her  baby,  with  a  little  answering  sigh,  passed  into 
the  House  with  many  rooms. 

'Whisht,  Annette  darlin';  don't  cry  for  the 
baby,'  said  her  husband.  '  Shure  it's  better  off  than 
the  rest  av  us,  it  is.  An'  didn't  ye  hear  what  the 
minister  said  about  the  beautiful  place  it  is  ?  An' 
shure  he  wouldn't  lie  to  us  at  all.'  But  a  mother 
cannot  be  comforted  for  her  first-born  son. 

An  hour  later  Nixon  brought  Father  Goulet  He 
was  a  little  Frenchman  with  gentle  manners  and  the 
face  of  a  saint.  Craig  welcomed  him  warmly,  and 
told  him  what  he  had  done. 


What  Came  to  Slavin  215 

*That  is  good,  my  brother,'  he  said,  with  gentle 
courtesy,  and,  turning  to  the  mother,  'Your  little 
one  is  safe.' 

Behind  Father  Goulet  came  Nixon  softly,  and 
gazed  do\yn  upon  the  little  quiet  face,  beautiful 
with  the  magic  of  death.  Slavin  came  quietly  and 
stood  beside  him.  Nixon  turned  and  offered  his 
hand.    But  Slavin  said,  moving  slowly  back — 

*  I  did  ye  a  wrong,  Nixon,  an'  it's  a  sorry  man  I 
am  this  day  for  it.' 

'  Don't  say  a  word,  Slavin,'  answered  Nixon,  hur- 
riedly. '  I  know  how  you  feel.  I've  got  a  baby, 
too.  I  want  to  see  it  again.  That's  why  the  break 
hurt  me  so.' 

'As  God's  above,'  replied  Slavin  earnestly,  'I'll 
hinder  ye  no  more.'  They  shook  hands,  and  we 
passed  out. 

We  laid  the  baby  under  the  pines,  not  far  from 
Billy  Breen,  and  the  sweet  spring  wind  blew  through 
the  Gap,  and  came  softly  down  the  valley,  whisper- 
ing to  the  pines  and  the  grass  and  the  hiding  flow- 
ers of  the  New  Life  coming  to  the  world.  And  the 
mother  must  have  heard  the  whisper  in  her  heart, 
for,  as  the  Priest  was  saying  the  words  of  the  Serv- 
ice, she  stood  with  Mrs.  Mavor's  arms  about  her, 
and  her  eyes  were  looking  far  away  beyond  the 


2i6  Black  Rock 

purple  mountain-tops,  seeing  what  mddr  her  smile. 
And  Slavin,  too,  looked  different.  His  very  fea- 
tures seemed  finer.  Tbie  coarseness  was  gone  out 
of  his  face.  What  had  come  to  him  I  could  not 
tell. 

But  when  the  doctor  came  into  Slavin's  house 
that  night  it  was  the  old  Slavin  i  saw,  but  with  a 
look  of  such  deadly  fury  on  his  face  that  I  tried  to 
get  the  doctor  out  at  once.  But  he  was  half  drunk 
and  after  his  manner  was  hideously  humorous. 

*  How  do,  ladies !  How  do,  gentlemen ! '  was  his 
loud-voiced  salutation.  '  Quite  a  professional  gath- 
ering, clergy  predominating.  Lion  and  Lamb  too, 
ha  I  ha!  which  is  the  lamb,  eh?  ha!  ha!  very 
good!  awfully  sorry  to  hear  of  your  loss,  Mrs. 
Slavin ;  did  our  best  you  know,  can't  help  this  sort 
of  thing.' 

Before  any  one  could  move,  Craig  was  at  his  side, 
and  saying  in  .a  clear,  firm  voice,  '  One  moment, 
doctor,'  caught  him  by  the  arm  and  had  him  out  of 
the  room  before  he  knew  it.  Slavin,  who  had  been 
crouching  in  his  chair  with  hands  twitching  and 
eyes  glaring,  rose  and  followed,  still  crouching  as 
he  walked.  I  hurried  after  him,  calling  him  back. 
Turning  at  my  voice,  the  doctor  saw  Slavin  ap- 
proaching.   There  was  something  so  terrifying  in 


What  Came  to  Slavin  217 

his  swift  noiseless  crouching  motion,  that  the  doc- 
tor, crying  out  in  fear  '  Keep  him  off,'  fairly  turned 
and  fled.  He  was  too  late.  Like  a  tiger  Slavin 
leaped  upon  him  and  without  waiting  to  strike  had 
him  by  the  throat  with  both  hands,  and  bearing 
him  to  the  ground,  worried  him  there  as  a  dog 
might  a  cat. 

Immediately  Craig  and  I  were  upon  him,  but 
though  we  lifted  him  clear  off  the  ground  we  could 
not  loosen  that  two-handed  strangling  grip.  As 
we  were  struggling  there  a  light  hand  touched  my 
shoulder.     It  was  Father  Goulet. 

'  Please  let  him  go,  and  stand  away  from  us,'  he 
said,  waving  us  back.  We  obeyed.  He  leaned  over 
Slavin  and  spoke  a  few  words  to  him.  SlaviR 
started  as  if  struck  a  heavy  blow,  looked  up  at  the 
priest  with  fear  in  his  face,  but  still  keeping  his 

grip- 

'  Let  him  go,*  said  the  priest.  Slavin  hesitated. 
'Let  him  go!  quick!'  said  the  priest  again,  and 
Slavin  with  a  snarl  let  go  his  hold  and  stood  sullenly 
facing  the  priest. 

Father  Goulet  regarded  him  steadily  for  some 
seconds  and  then  asked  — 

'What  would  you  do?'  His  voice  was  gentle 
enough,  even  sweet,  but  there  was  something  in  it 


2i8  Black  Rock 

rtiat  chilled  my  marrow.     '  What  would  you  do?' 
he  repeated. 

*  He  murdered  my  child,'  growled  Slavin. 
'Ah!  how?' 

*  He  was  drunk  and  poisoned  him.' 

'Ah!  who  gave  him  drink?  Who  made  him  a 
drunkard  two  years  ago  ?  Who  has  wrecked  his 
life?' 

There  was  no  answer,  and  the  even-toned  voice 
went  relentlessly  on  — 

'Who  is  the  murderer  of  your  child  now?' 

Slavin  groaned  and  shuddered. 

'Go!'  and  the  voice  grew  stern,  'Repent  of 
your  sin  and  add  not  another.' 

Slavin  turned  his  eyes  upon  the  motionless  figure 
on  the  ground  and  then  upon  the  priest.  Father 
Goulet  took  one  step  toward  him,  and,  stretching 
out  his  hand  and  pointing  with  his  finger,  said  — 

'Go!' 

And  Slavin  slowly  backed  away  and  went  into 
his  house.  It  was  an  extraordinary  scene,  and  it  is 
often  with  me  now :  the  dark  figure  on  the  ground, 
the  slight  erect  form  of  the  priest  with  outstretched 
arm  and  finger,  and  Slavin  backing  away,  fear  and 
fury  struggling  in  his  face. 

It  was  a  near  thing  for  the  doctor,  however,  and 


What  Came  to  Slavin  219 

two  minutes  more  of  that  grip  would  have  done  for 
him.  As  it  was,  we  had  the  greatest  difficulty  in 
reviving  him. 

What  the  priest  did  with  Slavin  after  getting  him 
inside  I  know  not ;  that  has  always  been  a  mystery 
to  me.  But  when  we  were  passing  the  saloon  that 
night  after  taking  Mrs.  Mavor  home,  we  saw  a  light 
and  heard  strange  sounds  within.  Entering,  we 
found  another  whisky  raid  in  progress,  Slavin  him- 
self being  the  raider.  We  stood  some  moments 
watching  him  knocking  in  the  heads  of  casks  and 
emptying  bottles.  I  thought  he  had  gone  mad,  and 
approached  him  cautiously. 

'  Hello,  Slavin  I '  I  called  out;  what  does  this 
mean  ? ' 

He  paused  in  his  strange  work,  aHd  I  saw  that  his 
face,  though  resolute,  was  quie^  enough. 

'It  means  I'm  done  wid  the  business,  I  am,' he 
said,  in  a  determined  voice.  '  I'll  help  no  more  to 
kill  any  man,  or,'  in  a  lower  tone,  'any  man's 
baby.'    The  priest's  words  had  struck  home. 

'  Thank  God,  Slavin ! '  said  Craig,  offering  his 
hand ;  '  you  are  much  too  good  a  man  for  the  busi- 
ness.' 

'  Good  or  bad,  I'm  done  wid  it,'  he  replied,  going 
on  with  his  work. 


22«  Black  Rock 

'You  are  throwing  away  good  money,  Slavin,'  I 
said,  as  the  head  of  a  casic  crashed  in. 

'  It's  meself  that  knows  it,  for  the  price  of  whisky 
has  riz  in  town  this  week,'  he  answered,  giving  me 
a  look  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye.  '  BedadI  it  was 
a  rare  clever  job,'  referring  to  our  Black  Rock  Hotel 
affair. 

'  But  won't  you  be  sorry  for  this  ? '  asked  Craig. 

'Beloike  I  will;  an*  that's  why  I'm  doin'  it  before 
I'm  sorry  for  it,'  he  replied,  with  a  delightful  bull. 

'Look  here,  Slavin,'  said  Craig  earnestly;  *if  I 
can  be  of  use  to  you  in  any  way,  count  on  me.' 

*  It's  good  to  me  the  both  of  yez  have  been,  an' 
I'll  not  forget  it  to  yez,'  he  replied,  with  like  ear- 
nestness. 

As  we  told  Mrs.  Mavor  that  night,  for  Craig 
thought  it  too  good  to  keep,  her  eyes  seemed  to 
grow  deeper  and  the  light  in  them  to  glow  more 
intense  as  she  listened  to  Craig  pouring  out  his  tale. 
Then  she  gave  him  her  hand  and  said  — 

*  You  have  your  man  at  last' 
•Whatman?' 

*  The  man  you  have  been  waiting  for.* 
'Slavin!' 

•Why  not?' 

*  I  never  thought  of  it* 


What  Came  to  Slavin  221 

*No  more  did  he,  nor  any  of  us.'  Then,  after  a 
pause,  she  added  gently,  '  He  has  been  sent  to  us.' 

^Do  you  know,  I  believe  you  are  right,'  Craig 
said  slowly,  and  then  added,  *  But  you  always  are.' 

'I  fear  not,'  she  answered;  but  I  thought  she 
liked  to  hear  his  words. 

The  whole  town  was  astounded  next  morning 
when  Slavin  went  to  work  in  the  mines,  and  its  as- 
tonishment only  deepened  as  the  days  went  on,  and 
he  stuck  to  his  work.  Before  three  weeks  had  gone 
the  League  had  bought  and  remodelled  the  saloon 
and  had  secured  Slavin  as  Resident  Manager. 

The  evening  of  the  reopening  of  Slavin's  saloon, 
as  it  was  still  called,  was  long  remembered  in 
Black  Rock.  It  was  the  occasion  of  the  first  ap- 
pearance of  'The  League  Minstrel  and  Dramatic 
Troupe,'  in  what  was  described  as  a  'hair-lifting 
tragedy  with  appropriate  musical  selections.'  Then 
there  was  a  grand  supper  and  speeches  and  great 
enthusiasm,  which  reached  its  climax  when  Nixon 
rose  to  propose  the  toast  of  the  evening — *  Our 
Saloon.'  His  speech  was  simply  a  quiet,  manly 
account  of  his  long  struggle  with  the  deadly  enemy. 
When  he  came  to  speak  of  his  recent  defeat  he 
said — 

*  And  while  I  am  blaming  no  one  but  myself,  I 


222  Black  Rock 

am  glad  to-night  that  this  saloon  is  on  our  side,  for 
my  own  sake  and  for  the  sake  of  those  who  have 
been  waiting  long  to  see  me.  But  before  I  sit  down 
I  want  to  say  that  while  I  live  I  shall  not  forget  that 
I  owe  my  life  to  the  man  that  took  me  that  night  to 
his  own  shack  and  put  me  in  his  own  bed,  and  met 
me  next  morning  with  an  open  hand;  for  1  tell  you 
I  had  sworn  to  God  that  that  morning  would  be  my 
last' 

Geordie's  speech  was  characteristic.  After  a  brief 
reference  to  the  '  mysteerious  ways  o'  Providence/ 
which  he  acknowledged  he  might  sometimes  fail  to 
onderstand,  he  went  on  to  express  his  unqualified 
approval  of  the  new  saloon. 

'  It's  a  cosy  place,  an'  there's  nae  sulphur  aboot. 
Besides  a'  that,'  he  went  on  enthusiastically,  'it'll  be 
a  terrible  savin'.     I've  juist  been  coontin'.' 

'You  bet  I'  ejaculated  a  voice  with  great  em- 
phasis. 

'I've  juist  been  coontin','  went  on  Geordie,  ignor- 
ing the  remark  and  the  laugh  which  followed,  '  an' 
it's  an  awfu'-like  money  ye  pit  ower  wi'  the 
whusky.  Ye  see  ye  canna  dae  wi'  ane  bit  glass;  ye 
maum  hae  twa  or  three  at  the  verra  least,  for  it's  no 
vcrra  forrit  ye  get  wi'  ane  glass.  But  wi'  yon  coffee 
yc  juist  get  a  saxpence- worth  an'  ye  want  nae  mair.' 


What  Came  to  Slavin  223 

There  was  another  shout  of  laughter,  which  puz- 
zled Geordie  much. 

'  I  dinna  see  the  jowk,  but  I've  slippit  ower  in 
whusky  mair  nor  a  hunner  dollars.' 

Then  he  paused,  looking  hard  before  him,  and 
twisting  his  face  into  extraordinary  shapes  till  the 
men  looked  at  him  in  wonder. 

'  I'm  rale  glad  0'  this  saloon,  but  it's  ower  late  for 
the  lad  that  canna  be  helpit  the  noo.  He'll  not  be 
needin'  help  o'  oors,  I  doot,  but  there  are  ithers'  — 
and  he  stopped  abruptly  and  sat  down,  with  no  ap- 
plause following. 

But  when  Slavin,  our  saloon-keeper,  rose  to  re- 
ply, the  men  jumped  up  on  the  seats  and  yelled  till 
they  could  yell  no  more.  Slavin  stood,  evidently  in 
trouble  with  himself,  and  finally  broke  out  — 

*  It's  spacheless  1  am  entirely.  What's  come  to 
me  I  know  not,  nor  how  it's  come.  But  I'll  do  my 
best  for  yez.'  And  then  the  yelling  broke  out 
again. 

I  did  not  yell  myself.  1  was  too  busy  watching 
the  varying  lights  in  Mrs.  Mavor's  eyes  as  she  looked 
from  Craig  to  the  yelling  men  on  the  benches  and 
tables,  and  then  to  Slavin,  and  I  found  myself  won- 
dering if  she  knew  what  it  was  that  came  to  Slavin. 


The  Two  Calls 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  TWO  CALLS 

With  the  call  to  Mr.  Craig  I  fancy  I  had  some- 
thing to  do  myself.  The  call  came  from  a  young 
congregation  in  an  eastern  city,  and  was  based 
partly  upon  his  college  record  and  more  upon  the 
advice  of  those  among  the  authorities  who  knew 
his  work  in  the  mountains.  But  I  flatter  myself 
that  my  letters  to  friends  who  were  of  importance 
in  that  congregation  were  not  without  influence,  for 
I  was  of  the  mind  that  the  man  who  could  handle 
Black  Rock  miners  as  he  could  was  ready  for  some- 
thing larger  than  a  mountain  mission.  That  he 
would  refuse  I  had  not  imagined,  though  I  ought  to 
have  known  him  better.  He  was  but  little  troubled 
over  it.  He  went  with  the  call  and  the  letters  urg- 
ing his  acceptance  to  Mrs.  Mavor.  I  was  putting 
the  last  touches  to  some  of  my  work  in  the  room  at 
the  back  of  Mrs.  Mavor's  house  when  he  came  in. 
She  read  the  letters  and  the  call  quietly,  and  waited 
for  him  to  speak. 

*  Well  ? '  he  said ;  '  should  I  go  ? ' 

^^7 


«28  Black  Rock 

She  started,  and  grew  a  little  pale.  His  question 
suggested  a  possibility  that  had  not  occurred  to  her. 
That  he  could  leave  his  work  in  Black  Rock  she  had 
hitherto  never  imagined ;  but  there  was  other  work, 
and  he  was  fit  for  good  work  anywhere.  Why 
should  he  not  go  ?  I  saw  the  fear  in  her  face,  but  I 
saw  more  than  fear  in  her  eyes,  as  for  a  moment  or 
two  she  let  them  rest  upon  Craig's  face.  I  read  her 
story,  and  I  was  not  sorry  for  either  of  them.  But 
she  was  too  much  a  woman  to  show  her  heart  easily 
to  the  man  she  loved,  and  her  voice  was  even  and 
calm  as  she  answered  his  question. 

'  Is  this  a  very  large  congregation  ?' 

'  One  of  the  finest  in  all  the  East,'  I  put  in  for 
him.     *  It  will  be  a  great  thing  for  Craig.' 

Craig  was  studying  her  curiously.  1  think  she 
noticed  his  eyes  upon  her,  for  she  went  on  even 
more  quietly  — 

*  It  will  be  a  great  chance  for  work,  and  you  are 
able  for  a  larger  sphere,  you  know,  than  poor  Black 
Rock  affords.' 

*  Who  will  take  Black  Rock  ?'  he  asked. 

'Let  some  other  fellow  have  a  try  at  it,'  I  said. 
'Why  should  you  waste  your  talents  here?' 
'Waste?'  cried  Mrs.  Mavor  indignantly. 
•Well,  "  bury,"  if  you  like  it  better,'  I  replied. 


The  Two  Calls  22^ 

*It  would  not  take  much  of  a  grave  for  that 
funeral,'  said  Craig,  smiling. 

*0h,'  said  Mrs.  Mavor,  'you  will  be  a  great  man 
I  know,  and  perhaps  you  ought  to  go  now.' 

But  he  answered  coolly:  'There  are  fifty  men 
wanting  that  Eastern  charge,  and  there  is  only  one 
wanting  Black  Rock,  and  I  don't  think  Black  Rock 
is  anxious  for  a  change,  so  I  have  determined  to 
stay  where  I  am  yet  a  while.' 

Even  my  deep  disgust  and  disappointment  did  not 
prevent  me  from  seeing  the  sudden  leap  of  joy  in 
Mrs.  Mavor's  eyes,  but  she,  with  a  great  effort,  an- 
swered quietly  — 

*  Black  Rock  will  be  very  glad,  and  some  of  us 
very,  very  glad.' 

Nothing  could  change  his  mind.  There  was  no 
one  he  knew  who  could  take  his  place  just  now, 
and  why  should  he  quit  his  work  ?  It  annoyed  me 
considerably  to  feel  he  was  right.  Why  is  it  that 
the  right  things  are  so  frequently  unpleasant  ? 

And  if  I  had  had  any  doubt  about  the  matter  next 
Sabbath  evening  would  have  removed  it.  For  the 
men  came  about  him  after  the  service  and  let  him 
feel  in  their  own  way  how  much  they  approved  his 
decision,  though  the  self-sacrifice  involved  did  not 
appeal  to  them.    They  were  too  truly  Western  to 


230  Black  Rock 

imagine  that  any  inducements  the  East  could  oflFcf 
could  compensate  for  his  loss  of  the  West.  It  was 
only  fitting  that  the  West  should  have  the  best,  and 
so  the  miners  took  almost  as  a  matter  of  course, 
and  certainly  as  their  right,  that  the  best  man  they 
knew  should  stay  with  them.  But  there  were  those 
who  knew  how  much  of  what  most  men  considei 
worth  while  he  had  given  up,  and  they  loved  him 
no  less  for  it. 

Mrs.  Mavor's  call  was  not  so  easily  disposed  of. 
It  came  close  upon  the  other,  and  stirred  Black  Rock 
as  nothing  else  had  ever  stirred  it  before. 

I  found  her  one  afternoon  gazing  vacantly  at  some 
legal  documents  spread  out  before  her  on  the  table, 
and  evidently  overcome  by  their  contents.  There 
was  first  a  lawyer's  letter  informing  her  that  by  the 
death  of  her  husband's  father  she  had  come  into  the 
whole  of  the  Mavor  estates,  and  all  the  wealth  per- 
taining thereto.  The  letter  asked  for  instructions, 
and  urged  an  immediate  return  with  a  view  to  a 
personal  superintendence  of  the  estates.  A  letter, 
too,  from  a  distant  cousin  of  her  husband  urged  her 
immediate  return  for  many  reasons,  but  chiefly  on 
account  of  the  old  mother  who  had  been  left  alone 
with  none  nearer  of  kin  than  himself  to  care  for  her 
And  cheer  her  old  age. 


The  Two  Calls  %$i 

With  these  two  came  another  letter  from  her 
mother-in-law  herself.  The  crabbed,  trembling 
characters  were  even  more  eloquent  than  the  words 
with  which  the  letter  closed. 

"I  have  lost  my  boy,  and  now  my  husband  is 
gone,  and  I  am  a  lonely  woman.  I  have  many 
servants,  and  some  friends,  but  none  near  to  me, 
none  so  near  and  dear  as  my  dead  son's  wife.  My 
days  are  not  to  be  many.  Come  to  me,  my  daugh- 
ter; I  want  you  and  Lewis's  child.' 

'  Must  I  go  ? '  she  asked  with  white  lips. 

*  Do  you  know  her  well  ? '  I  asked. 

*I  only  saw  her  once  or  twice,'  she  answered; 
'  but  she  has  been  very  good  to  me.' 

'She  can  hardly  need  you.  She  has  friends. 
And  surely  you  are  needed  here.* 

She  looked  at  me  eagerly. 

*  Do  you  think  so  ? '  she  said. 

'  Ask  any  man  in  the  camp— Shaw,  Nixon,  young 
Winton,  Geordie.    Ask  Craig,'  I  replied. 

'  Yes,  he  will  tell  me  '  she  said. 

Even  as  she  spoke  Craig  came  up  the  steps.  1 
passed  into  my  studio  and  went  on  with  my  work, 
for  my  days  at  Black  Rock  were  getting  few,  and 
many  sketches  remained  to  be  filled  in. 

Through  my  open  door  I  saw  Mrs.  Mavor  lay  hef 


232  Black  Rock 

letters  before  Mr.  Craig,  saying,  *  I  have  a  call  too.* 
They  thought  not  of  me. 

He  went  through  the  papers,  carefully  laid  them 
down  without  a  word  while  she  waited  anxiously, 
almost  impatiently,  for  him  to  speak. 

'  Well  ? '  she  asked,  using  his  own  words  to  her; 
*  should  I  go  ? ' 

'I  do  not  know,'  he  replied;  'that  is  for  you  to 
decide — ^you  know  all  the  circumstances.' 

*  The  letters  tell  all.'  Her  tone  carried  a  feeling  of 
disappointment.     He  did  not  appear  to  care. 

*  The  estates  are  large  ? '  he  asked. 

*  Yes,  large  enough — twelve  thousand  a  year.' 
*And    has   your  mother-in-law   any   one   with 

her?' 

'  She  has  friends,  but,  as  she  says,  none  near  of 
kin.  Her  nephew  looks  after  the  works — iron 
works,  you  know — he  has  shares  in  them.' 

*She  is  evidently  very  lonely,*  he  answered 
gravely. 

'What  shall  I  do?'  she  asked,  and  I  knew  she 
was  waiting  to  hear  him  urge  her  to  stay;  but  he 
did  not  see,  or  at  least  gave  no  heed. 

'I  cannot  say,'  he  repeated  quietly.  'There  are 
many  things  to  consider;  the  estates ' 

'The  estates  seem  to  trouble  you,'  she  replied, 


The  Two  Calls  '         233 

almost  fretfully.  He  looked  up  in  surprise.  I  won- 
dered at  his  slowness. 

'Yes,  the  estates,'  he  went  on,  'and  tenants,  I 
suppose — ^your  mother-in-law,  your  little  Marjorie's 
future,  your  own  future.' 

'  The  estates  are  in  capable  hands,  I  should  sup- 
pose,' she  urged,  'and  my  future  depends  upon 
what  I  choose  my  work  to  be.' 

'But  one  cannot  shift  one's  responsibilities,'  he 
replied  gravely.  '  These  estates,  these  tenants,  have 
come  to  you,  and  with  them  come  duties.' 

'  I  do  not  want  them,'  she  cried. 

'That  life  has  great  possibilities  of  good,'  he  said 
kindly. 

•  I  had  thought  that  perhaps  there  was  work  for 
me  here,'  she  suggested  timidly. 

'Great  work,'  he  hastened  to  say.  *You  have 
done  great  work.  But  you  will  do  that  wherever 
you  go.  The  only  question  is  where  your  work 
lies.' 

'  You  think  I  should  go/  she  said  suddenly  and  a 
little  bitterly. 

*1  cannot  bid  you  stay,'  he  answered  steadily. 

'How  can  I  go?'  she  cried,  appealing  to  him. 
•Must!  go?' 

How  he  could  resist  that  appeal  I  could  not  un- 


234  Black  Rock 

derstand.  His  face  was  cold  and  hard,  and  his 
voice  was  almost  harsh  as  he  replied  — 

'  If  it  is  right,  you  will  go — you  must  go.' 

Then  she  burst  forth  — 

'I  cannot  go.  I  shall  stay  here.  My  work  is 
here;  my  heart  is  here.  How  can  I  go?  You 
thought  it  worth  your  while  to  stay  here  and  work, 
why  should  not  I?' 

The  momentary  gleam  in  his  eyes  died  out,  and 
again  he  said  coldly  — 

*  This  work  was  clearly  mine.     I  am  needed  here.' 

*  Yes,  yes!'  she  cried,  her  voice  full  of  pain;  'you 
are  needed,  but  there  is  no  need  of  me.' 

'Stop,  stop! '  he  said  sharply;  'you  must  not  say 
so.' 

'I  will  say  it,  I  must  say  it,'  she  cried,  her  voice 
vibrating  with  the  intensity  of  her  feeling.  *1 
know  you  do  not  need  me;  you  have  your  work, 
your  miners,  your  plans;  you  need  no  one;  you  are 
strong.  But,'  and  her  voice  rose  to  a  cry,  '1  am 
not  strong  by  myself;  you  have  made  me  strong. 
I  came  here  a  foolish  girl,  foolish  and  selfish  and 
narrow.  God  sent  me  grief.  Three  years  ago  my 
heart  died.  Now  I  am  living  again.  I  am  a  woman 
now,  no  longer  a  girl.  You  have  done  this  for  me. 
Your  life,  your  words,  yourself — you  have  showed 


The  Two  Calls  235 

me  a  better,  a  higher  life,  than  I  had  ever  known 
before,  and  now  you  send  me  away.' 

She  paused  abruptly. 

'  Blind,  stupid  fool ! '  I  said  to  myself. 

He  held  himself  resolutely  in  hand,  answering 
carefully,  but  his  voice  had  lost  its  coldness  and 
was  sweet  and  kind. 

'  Have  I  done  this  for  you  ?  Then  surely  God  has 
been  good  to  me.  And  you  have  helped  me  more 
than  any  words  could  tell  you.' 

' Helped!'  she  repeated  scornfully. 

*Yes,  helped,'  he  answered,  wondering  at  her 
scorn. 

'You  can  do  without  my  help,'  she  went  on. 
*  You  make  people  help  you.  You  will  get  many 
to  help  you;  but  I  need  help,  too.'  She  was  stand- 
ing before  him  with  her  hands  tightly  clasped ;  her 
face  was  pale,  and  her  eyes  deeper  than  ever.  He 
sat  looking  up  at  her  in  a  kind  of  maze  as  she 
poured  out  her  words  hot  and  fast. 

*I  am  not  thinking  of  you.'  His  coldness  had 
hurt  her  deeply.  'I  am  selfish;  I  am  thinking  of 
myself.  How  shall  I  do  ?  I  have  grown  to  depend 
on  you,  to  look  to  you.  It  is  nothing  to  you  that  I 
go,  but  to  me — '    She  did  not  dare  to  finish. 

By  this  time  Craig  was  standing  before  her,  his 


236  Black  Rock 

face  deadly  pale.  When  she  came  to  the  end  of 
her  words,  he  said,  in  a  voice  low,  sweet,  and 
thrilling  with  emotion  — 

*  Ah,  if  you  only  knew !  Do  not  make  me  forget 
myself.    You  do  not  guess  what  you  are  doing.' 

*  What  am  I  doing  ?  What  is  there  to  know,  but 
that  you  tell  me  easily  to  go  ? '  She  was  struggling 
with  the  tears  she  was  too  proud  to  let  him  see. 

He  put  his  hands  resolutely  behind  him,  looking 
at  her  as  if  studying  her  face  for  the  first  time. 
Under  his  searching  look  she  dropped  her  eyes, 
and  the  warm  colour  came  slowly  up  into  her  neck 
and  face;  then,  as  if  with  a  sudden  resolve,  she 
lifted  her  eyes  to  his,  and  looked  back  at  him  un- 
flinchingly. 

He  started,  surprised,  drew  slowly  near,  put  his 
hands  upon  her  shoulders,  surprise  giving  place 
to  wild  joy.  She  never  moved  her  eyes;  they 
drew  him  toward  her.  He  took  her  face  between 
his  hands,  smiled  into  her  eyes,  kissed  her  lips. 
She  did  not  move;  he  stood  back  from  her,  threw 
up  his  head,  and  laughed  aloud.  She  came  to 
him,  put  her  head  upon  his  breast,  and  lifting  up 
her  face  said,  'Kiss  me.'  He  put  his  arms  about 
her,  bent  down  and  kissed  her  lips  again,  and 
then  reverently  her  brow.    Then  cutting  her  back 


The  Two  Calls  237 

from  him,  but  still  holding  both  her  hands,  he 
cried  — 

'Nol  you  shall  not  go.     I  shall  never  let  you  go.' 

She  gave  a  little  sigh  of  content,  and,  smiling  up 
at  him,  said  — 

'I  can  go  now;'  but  even  as  she  spoke  the  flush 
died  from  her  face,  and  she  shuddered. 

'Never!'  he  almost  shouted;  'nothing  shall  take 
you  away.    We  shall  work  here  together.' 

'Ah,  if  we  could,  if  we  only  could,'  she  said 
piteously. 

'Why  not?'  he  demanded  fiercely. 

'  You  will  send  me  away.  You  will  say  it  is  right 
for  me  to  go,'  she  replied  sadly. 

'  Do  we  not  love  each  other  ? '  was  his  impatient 
answer. 

'  Ahl  yes,  love,'  she  sard;  '  but  love  is  not  all.' 

'No!'  cried  Craig;  '  but  love  is  the  best.' 

'  Yes! '  she  said  sadly;  love  is  the  best,  and  it  is 
for  love's  sake  we  will  do  the  best.' 

*  There  is  no  better  work  than  here.  Surely  this 
is  best,'  and  he  pictured  his  plans  before  her.  She 
listened  eagerly. 

'Oh!  if  it  should  be  right,'  she  cried,  'I  will  do 
what  you  say.  You  are  good,  you  are  wise,  you 
shall  tell  me.' 


238  Black  Rock 

She  could  not  have  recalled  him  better.  He 
stood  silent  some  moments,  then  burst  out  pas- 
sionately — 

•  Why  then  has  love  come  to  us  ?  We  did  not 
seek  it.  Surely  love  is  of  God.  Does  God  mock 
us?* 

He  threw  himself  into  his  chair,  pouring  out  his 
words  of  passionate  protestation.  She  listened, 
smiling,  then  came  to  him  and,  touching  his  hair  as 
a  mother  might  her  child's,  said — 

'Oh,  I  am  very  happy!  1  was  afraid  you  would 
not  care,  and  1  could  not  bear  to  go  that  way.' 

'You  shall  not  go,'  he  cried  aloud,  as  if  in  pain. 
'Nothing  can  make  that  right.' 

But  she  only  said,  '  You  shall  tell  me  to-morrow. 
You  cannot  see  to-night,  y)ut  you  will  see,  and  you 
will  tell  me.' 

He  stood  up  and,  holding  both  her  hands,  looked 
long  into  her  eyes,  then  turned  abruptly  away  and 
went  out. 

She  stood  where  he  left  her  for  some  moments, 
her  face  radiant,  and  her  hands  pressed  upon  her 
heart.  Then  she  came  toward  my  room.  She 
found  me  busy  with  my  painting,  but  as  1  looked 
up  and  met  her  eyes  she  flushed  slightly,  and 
said — 


The  Two  Calls  239 

*  I  quite  forgot  you.* 
*So  it  appeared  to  me.' 

*  You  heard  ? ' 

'And  saw,'  I  replied  boldly.  Mt  would  have 
been  rude  to  interrupt,  you  see.' 

*  Oh,  I  am  so  glad  and  thankful.' 
*Yes;  it  was  rather  considerate  of  me.' 

*0h,  I  don't  mean  that,'  the  flush  deepening;  *| 
am  glad  you  know.' 

*  1  have  known  some  time.' 

'  How  could  you  ?    I  only  kricw  to-day  myself.' 

*I  have  eyes.'    She  flushed  again. 

'Do  you  mean  that  people — *  she  began  anx- 
iously. 

'No;  I  am  not  "people."  I  have  eyes,  and  my 
eyes  have  been  opened.' 

'Opened?' 

*Yes^  by  love.' 

Then  I  told  her  openly  how,  weeks  ago,  I  strug- 
gled with  my  heart  and  mastered  it,  for  I  saw  it  was 
vain  to  love  her,  because  she  loved  a  better  man 
who  loved  her  in  return.  She  looked  at  me  shyly 
and  said  — 

'  I  am  sorry.' 

'  Don't  worry,'  I  said  cheerfully.  '  I  didn't  break 
my  heart,  you  know;  I  stopped  it  in  time.' 


240  Black  Rock 

'Ohl'  she  said,  slightly  disappointed;  then  her 
lips  began  to  twitch,  and  she  went  off  into  a  fit  of 
hysterical  laughter. 

'Forgive  me,'  she  said  humbly;  'but  you  speak 
as  if  it  had  been  a  fever.' 

'  Fever  is  nothing  to  it,'  I  said  solemnly.  '  It  was 
a  near  thing.'  At  which  she  went  off  again.  I  was 
glad  to  see  her  laugh.  It  gave  me  time  to  recover 
my  equilibrium,  and  it  relieved  her  intense  emo- 
tional strain.  So  I  rattled  on  some  nonsense  about 
Craig  and  myself  till  I  saw  she  was  giving  no  heed, 
but  thinking  her  own  thoughts:  and  what  these 
were  it  was  not  hard  to  guess. 
Suddenly  she  broke  in  upon  my  talk  — 
*  He  will  tell  me  that  I  must  go  from  him.' 
.*]  hope  he  is  no  such  fool,'  I  said  emphatically 
and  somewhat  rudely,  I  fear;  for  I  confess  I  was 
impatient  with  the  very  possibility  of  separation  for 
these  two,  to  whom  love  meant  so  much.  Some 
people  take  this  sort  of  thing  easily  and  some  not 
so  easily;  but  love  for  a  woman  like  this  comes 
once  only  to  a  man,  and  then  he  carries  it  with  him 
through  the  length  of  his  life,  and  warms  his  heart 
with  it  in  death.  And  when  a  man  smiles  or  sneers 
at  sut:h  love  as  this,  I  pity  him,  an(/  say  no  word, 
for  my  speech  would  be  in  an  unknown  tongue. 


The  Two  Calls  241 

So  my  heart  was  sore  as  I  sat  looking  up  at  this 
woman  who  stood  before  me,  overflowing  with 
the  joy  of  her  new  love,  and  dully  conscious  of  the 
coming  pain.  But  I  soon  found  it  was  vain  to  urge 
my  opinion  that  she  should  remain  and  share  the 
work  and  life  of  the  man  she  loved.  She  only  an- 
swered — 

'  You  will  help  him  all  you  can»  for  it  will  hurt 
him  to  have  me  go.' 

The  quiver  in  her  voice  took  out  all  the  anger 
from  my  heart,  and  before  I  knew  1  had  pledged 
myself  to  do  all  1  could  to  help  him. 

But  when  I  came  upon  him  that  night,  sitting 
in  the  light  of  his  fire,  I  saw  he  must  be  let  alone. 
Some  battles  we  fight  side  by  side,  with  comrades 
cheering  us  and  being  cheered  to  victory;  but  there 
are  fights  we  may  not  share,  and  these  are  deadly 
fights  where  lives  are  lost  and  won.  So  I  could 
only  lay  my  hand  upon  his  shoulder  without  a 
word.  He  looked  up  quickly,  read  my  face,  and 
said,  with  a  groan  — 
You  know  ? ' 

'  I  could  not  help  it.     But  why  groan  ?' 

'She  will  think  it  right  to  go,'  he  said  despair* 
ingly. 

'Then    you   must  think  for  her;    you   must 


242  Black  Rock 

bring  some  common-sense  to  bear  upon  the  ques^ 
tion.' 

'I  cannot  see  clearly  yet,'  he  said;  'the  light  will 
come.' 

*  May  I  show  you  how  I  see  it  ?'  I  asked. 

'Go  on,'  he  said. 

For  an  hour  I  talked,  eloquently,  even  vehemently 
urging  the  reason  and  right  of  my  opinion.  She 
would  be  doing  no  more  than  every  woman  does, 
no  more  than  she  did  before;  her  mother-in-law 
had  a  comfortable  home,  all  that  wealth  could  pro- 
cure, good  servants,  and  friends;  the  estates  could 
be  managed  without  her  personal  supervision ;  after 
a  few  years'  work  here  they  would  go  east  for 
little  Marjorie's  education ;  why  should  two  lives  be 
broken  ? — and  so  I  went  on. 

He  listened  carefully,  even  eagerly. 

'You  make  a  good  case,'  he  said,  with  a  slight 
smile.  'I  will  take  time.  Perhaps  you  are  right. 
The  light  will  come.  Surely  it  will  come.  But,' 
and  here  he  sprang  up  and  stretched  his  arms  to 
full  length  above  his  head,  '  I  am  not  sorry ;  what- 
ever comes  I  am  not  sorry.  It  is  great  to  have  her 
love,  but  greater  to  love  her  as  I  do.  Thank  God  I 
nothing  can  take  that  away.  I  am  willing,  glad  to 
suffer  for  the  joy  of  loving  her.' 


The  Two  Calls  Hi 

Next  morning,  before  I  was  awake,  he  was  gone, 
leaving  a  note  for  me : — 

'My  dear  Connor, — I  am  due  at  the  Landing. 
When  I  see  you  again  I  think  my  way  will  be  clear. 
Now  all  is  dark.  At  times  1  am  a  coward,  and 
often,  as  you  sometimes  kindly  inform  me,  an  ass; 
but  1  hope  I  may  never  become  a  mule. 

'  I  am  willing  to  be  led,  or  want  to  be,  at  any 
rate.  I  must  do  the  best — not  second  best — for 
her,  for  me.  The  best  only  is  God's  will.  What 
else  would  you  have  ?  Be  good  to  her  these  days, 
dear  old  fellow. — Yours.  Craig.' 

How  often  tnose  words  have  braced  me  he  will 
never  know,  but  I  am  a  better  man  for  them :  *  The 
best  only  is  God's  will.  What  else  would  you 
have  ? '  I  resolved  I  would  rage  and  fret  no  more, 
and  that  I  would  worry  Mrs.  Mavor  with  no  more 
argument  or  expostulation,  but,  as  my  friend  had 
asked,  '  Be  good  to  her/ 


Love  is  Not  All 


CHAPTER  XII 

LOVE  IS  NOT  ALL 

Those  days  when  we  were  waiting  Craig's  return 
we  spent  in  the  woods  or  on  the  mountain  sides,  or 
down  in  the  canyon  beside  the  stream  that  danced 
down  to  meet  the  Black  Rock  river,  I  talking  and 
sketching  and  reading,  and  she  listening  and  dream- 
ing, with  often  a  happy  smile  upon  her  face.  But 
there  were  moments  when  a  cloud  of  shuddering 
fear  would  sweep  the  smile  away,  and  then  I 
would  talk  of  Craig  till  the  smile  came  back  again. 

But  the  woods  and  the  mountains  and  the  river 
were  her  best,  her  wisest,  friends  during  those 
days.  How  sweet  the  ministry  of  the  woods  to 
her!  The  trees  were  in  their  new  summer  leaves, 
fresh  and  full  of  life.  They  swayed  and  rustled 
above  us,  flinging  their  interlacing  shadows  upon 
us,  and  their  swaying  and  their  rustling  soothed 
and  comforted  like  the  voice  and  touch  of  a  mother. 
And  the  mountains,  too,  in  all  the  glory  of  their 
varying  robes  of  blues  and  purples,  stood  calmly, 
solemnly  about  us,  uplifting  our  souls  into  regions 

of  rest.    The  changing  lights  and  shadows  flitted 

247 


248  Black  Rock 

swiftly  over  their  rugged  fronts,  but  left  them  ever 
as  before  in  their  steadfast  majesty.  '  God's  in  His 
heaven.'  What  would  you  have?  And  ever  the 
little  river  sang  its  cheerful  courage,  fearing  not  the 
great  mountains  that  threatened  to  bar  its  passage 
to  the  sea.  Mrs.  Mavor  heard  the  song  and  her 
courage  rose. 

'We  too  shall  find  our  way,'  she  said,  and  I  be- 
lieved her. 

But  through  these  days  I  could  not  make  her  out, 
and  I  found  myself  studying  her  as  I  might  a  new 
acquaintance.  Years  had  fallen  from  her;  she  was 
a  girl  again,  full  of  young  warm  life.  She  was  as 
sweet  as  before,  but  there  was  a  soft  shyness  over 
her,  a  half-shamed,  half-frank  consciousness  in  her 
face,  a  glad  light  in  her  eyes  that  made  her  all  new 
to  me.  Her  perfect  trust  in  Craig  was  touching  to 
see. 

*  He  will  tell  me  what  to  do,*  she  would  say,  till  I 
began  to  realise  how  impossible  it  would  be  for 
him  to  betray  such  trust,  and  be  anything  but  true 
to  the  best. 

So  much  did  I  dread  Craig's  home-coming,  that  I 
sent  for  Graeme  and  old  man  Nelson,  who  was 
more  and  more  Graeme's  trusted  counsellor  and 
friend.    They  were   both    highly  excited  by  the 


Love  is  Not  All  249 

story  I  had  to  tell,  for  I  thought  it  best  to  tell  them 
all;  but  I  was  not  a  little  surprised  and  disgusted 
that  they  did  not  see  the  matter  in  my  light.  In 
vain  I  protested  against  the  madness  of  allowing 
anything  to  send  these  two  from  each  other. 
Graeme  summed  up  the  discussion  in  his  own  em- 
phatic way,  but  with  an  earnestness  in  his  words 
not  usual  with  him. 

*  Craig  will  know  better  than  any  of  us  what  is 
right  to  do,  and  he  will  do  that,  and  no  man  can 
turn  him  from  it;  and,'  he  added,  *I  should  be  sorry 
to  try.' 

Then  my  wrath  rose,  and  I  cried  — 

'  It's  a  tremendous  shame !  They  love  each  other. 
You  are  talking  sentimental  humbug  and  nonsense! ' 

'He  must  do  the  right,'  said  Nelson  in  his  deep, 
quiet  voice. 

'Right!  Nonsense!  By  what  right  does  he  send 
from  him  the  woman  he  loves  ? ' 

*  "  He  pleased  not  Himself," '  quoted  Nelson  rev- 
erently. 

'Nelson  is  right,'  said  Graeme.  *I  should  not 
like  to  see  him  weaken.' 

'Look  here,'  I  stormed;  'I  didn't  bring  you  men 
to  back  him  up  in  his  nonsense.  I  thought  you 
could  keep  your  heads  level.' 


250  Black  Rock 

'Now,  Connor,*  said  Graeme,  'don't  rage-  leave 
that  for  the  heathen  ;  it's  bad  fornm,  and  useless  be^ 
sides.  Craig  will  walk  his  way  where  his  light 
falls  ;  and  by  all  that's  holy,  I  should  hate  to  see 
him  fail;  for  if  he  weakens  like  the  rest  of  us  my 
North  Star  will  have  dropped  from  my  sky.' 

*Nice  selfish  spirit,'  I  muttered. 

'  Entirely  so.  I'm  not  a  saint,  but  I  feel  like  steer- 
ing by  one  when  I  see  him.' 

When  after  a  week  had  gone,  Craig  rode  up  one 
early  morning  to  his  shack  door,  his  face  told  me 
that  he  had  fought  his  fight  and  had  not  been 
beaten.  He  had  ridden  all  night  and  was  ready  to 
drop  with  weariness. 

'Connor,  old  boy,'  he  said,  putting  out  his  hand; 
'  I'm  rather  played.  There  was  a  bad  row  at  the 
Landing.  I  have  just  closed  poor  Colley's  eyes.  It 
was  awful.  I  must  get  sleep.  Look  after  Dandy, 
will  you,  like  a  good  chap  ?' 

'  Oh,  Dandy  be  hanged ! '  I  said,  for  I  knew  it  was 
not  the  fight,  nor  the  watching,  not  the  long  ride 
that  had  shaken  his  iron  nerve  and  given  him  that 
face.  'Go  in  and  lie  down;  I'll  bring  you  some- 
thing.' 

'Wake  me  in  the  afternoon,'  he  said;  'she  is 
waiting.     Perhaps  you  will  go  to  her' — his  lips 


Love  is  Not  All  251 

quivered — 'my  nerve  is  rather  gone.'  Then  with 
a  very  wan  smile  he  added,  *  I  am  giving  you  a  lot 
of  trouble.' 

'  You  go  to  thunder! '  I  burst  out,  for  my  throat 
was  hot  and  sore  with  grief  for  him. 

'I  think  I'd  rather  go  to  sleep,'  he  replied,  still 
smiling.  I  could  not  speak,  and  was  glad  of  the 
chance  of  being  alone  with  Dandy. 

When  I  came  in  1  found  him  sitting  with  his  head 
in  his  arms  upon  the  table  fast  asleep.  I  made  him 
tea,  forced  him  to  take  a  warm  bath,  and  sent  him 
to  bed,  while  I  went  to  Mrs.  Mavor.  I  went  with  a 
fearful  heart,  but  that  was  because  I  had  forgotten 
the  kind  of  woman  she  was. 

She  was  standing  in  the  light  of  the  window 
waiting  for  me.  Her  face  was  pale  but  steady, 
there  was  a  proud  light  in  her  fathomless  eyes,  a 
slight  smile  parted  her  lips,  and  she  carried  her  head 
like  a  queen. 

'Come  in,'  she  said.  'You  need  not  fear  to  tell 
me.  I  saw  him  ride  home.  He  has  not  failed, 
thank  God!  I  am  proud  of  him;  I  knew  he  would 
be  true.  He  loves  me' — she  drew  in  her  breath 
sharply,  and  a  faint  colour  tinged  her  cheek — '  but 
he  knows  love  is  not  all — ah,  love  is  not  all!  Oh!  I 
am  glad  and  proud ! ' 


252  Black  Rock 

'Glad!'  I  gasped,  amazed. 

'You  would  not  have  him  prove  faithless!'  she 
said  with  proud  defiance. 

*Oh,  it  is  high  sentimental  nonsense,'  !  could  not 
help  saying. 

'You  should  not  say  so,'  she  replied,  and  her 
voice  rang  clear.  'Honour,  faith,  and  duty  are 
sentiments,  but  they  are  not  nonsense.' 

In  spite  of  my  rage  I  was  lost  in  amazed  admira- 
tion of  the  high  spirit  of  the  woman  who  stood  up 
so  straight  before  me.  But,  as  1  told  how  worn  and 
broken  he  was,  she  listened  with  changing  colour 
and  swelling  bosom,  her  proud  courage  all  gone, 
and  only  love,  anxious  and  pitying,  in  her  eyes. 

'  Shall  I  go  to  him  ? '  she  asked  with  timid  eager- 
ness and  deepening  colour. 

'  He  is  sleeping.  He  said  he  would  come  to  you/ 
I  replied. 

*I  shall  wait  for  him,'  she  said  softly,  and  the 
tenderness  in  her  tone  went  straight  to  my  heart, 
and  it  seemed  to  me  a  man  might  suflfer  much  to  be 
loved  with  love  such  as  this. 

In  the  early  afternoon  Graeme  came  to  her.  She 
met  him  with  both  hands  outstretched,  saying  in  a 
low  voice  — 

*  I  am  very  happy.' 


Love  is  Not  All  253 

*  Are  you  sure  ? '  he  asked  anxiously. 

'Oh,  yes,'  she  said,  but  her  voice  was  like  a  sob; 
'quite,  quite  sure.' 

They  talked  long  together  till  I  saw  that  Craig 
must  soon  be  coming,  and  I  called  Graeme  away. 
He  held  her  hands,  looking  steadily  into  her  eyes 
and  said  — 

'You  are  better  even  than  I  thought;  I'm  going 
to  be  a  better  man.' 

Her  eyes  filled  with  tears,  but  her  smile  did  not 
fade  as  she  answered  — 

*  Yes !  you  will  be  a  good  man,  and  God  will  give 
you  work  to  do.' 

He  bent  his  head  over  her  hands  and  stepped 
back  from  her  as  from  a  queen,  but  he  spoke  no 
word  till  we  came  to  Craig's  door.  Then  he  said 
with  humility  that  seemed  strange  in  him, '  Connor, 
that  is  great,  to  conquer  oneself.  It  is  worth  while. 
I  am  going  to  try.' 

I  would  not  have  missed  his  meeting  with  Craig. 
Nelson  was  busy  with  tea.  Craig  was  writing  near 
the  window.  He  looked  up  as  Graeme  came  in, 
and  nodded  an  easy  good-evening;  but  Graeme 
strode  to  him  and,  putting  one  hand  on  his  shoul- 
der, held  out  his  other  for  Craig  to  take. 

After  a  moment's  surprise,  Craig  rose  to  his  feet. 


#54  Black  Rock 

and,  facing  him  squarely,  took  the  offered  hand  in 
both  of  his  and  held  it  fast  without  a  word. 
Graeme  was  the  first  to  speak,  and  his  voice  was 
deep  with  emotion  — 

'You  are  a  great  man,  a  good  man.  I'd  give 
something  to  have  your  grit.' 

Poor  Craig  stood  looking  at  him,  not  daring  to 
speak  for  some  moments,  then  he  said  quietly  — 

'  Not  good  nor  great,  but,  thank  God,  not  quite  a 
traitor.' 

'Good  man! '  went  on  Graeme,  patting  him  on 
the  shoulder.     '  Good  man!    But  it's  tough.' 

Craig  sat  down  quickly,  saying,  '  Don't  do  that, 
old  chap!' 

I  went  up  with  Craig  to  Mrs.  Mavor's  door.  She 
did  not  hear  us  coming,  but  stood  near  the  window 
gazing  up  at  the  mountains.  She  was  dressed  in 
some  rich  soft  stuff,  and  wore  at  her  breast  a  bunch 
of  wild-flowers.  I  had  never  seen  her  so  beautiful. 
I  did  not  wonder  that  Craig  paused  with  his  foot 
upon  the  threshold  to  look  at  her.  She  turned 
and  saw  us.  With  a  glad  cry,  '  Oh !  my  darling ; 
you  have  come  to  me,'  she  came  with  outstretched 
arms.  I  turned  and  fled,  but  the  cry  and  the  vision 
were  long  with  me. 

It  was  decided  that  night  that  Mrs.  Mavor  should 


Love  is  Not  All  255 

go  the  next  week.  A  miner  and  his  wife  were  go- 
ing east,  and  I  too  would  join  the  party. 

The  camp  went  into  mourning  at  the  news;  but 
it  was  understood  that  any  display  of  grief  before 
Mrs.  Mavor  was  bad  form.  She  was  not  to  be  an- 
noyed. 

But  when  I  suggested  that  she  should  leave 
quietly,  and  avoid  the  pain  of  saying  good-bye,  she 
flatly  refused  — 

'  I  must  say  good-bye  to  every  man.  They  love 
me  and  I  love  them.' 

It  was  decided,  too,  at  first,  that  there  should  be 
nothing  in  the  way  of  a  testimonial,  but  when  Craig 
found  out  that  the  men  were  coming  to  her  with  all 
sorts  of  extraordinary  gifts,  he  agreed  that  it  would 
be  better  that  they  should  unite  in  one  gift.  So  it 
was  agreed  that  I  should  buy  a  ring  for  her.  And 
were  it  not  that  the  contributions  were  strictly  lim- 
ited to  one  dollar,  the  purse  that  Slavin  handed  her 
when  Shaw  read  the  address  at  the  farewell  supper 
would  have  been  many  times  filled  with  the  gold 
that  was  pressed  upon  the  committee.  There  were 
no  speeches  at  the  supper,  except  one  by  myself  in 
reply  on  Mrs.  Mavor's  behalf.  She  had  given  me 
the  words  to  say,  and  I  was  thoroughly  prepared, 
else  /  should  not  have  got  through.    I  began  in  the 


256  Black  Rock 

usual  way:  'Mr.  Chairman,  ladies  and  gentlemen. 
Mrs.  Mavor  is — '  but  I  got  no  furtlier,  for  at  the 
mention  of  her  name  the  men  stood  on  the  chairs 
and  yelled  until  they  could  yell  no  more.  There 
were  over  two  hundred  and  fifty  of  them,  and  the 
effect  was  overpowering.  But  I  got  through  my 
speech.    1  remember  it  well.     It  began  — 

'  Mrs.  Mavor  is  greatly  touched  by  this  mark  of 
your  love,  and  she  will  wear  your  ring  always  with 
pride.'    And  it  ended  with  — 

'  She  has  one  request  to  make,  that  you  will  be 
true  to  the  League,  and  that  you  stand  close  about 
the  man  who  did  most  to  make  it.  She  wishes  me 
to  say  that  however  far  away  she  may  have  to  go, 
she  is  leaving  her  heart  in  Black  Rock,  and  she  can 
think  of  no  greater  joy  than  to  come  back  to  you 
again.' 

Then  they  had  'The  Sweet  By  and  By,'  but  the 
men  would  not  join  in  the  refrain,  unwilling  to  lose 
a  note  of  the  glorious  voice  they  loved  to  hear. 
Before  the  last  verse  she  beckoned  to  me.  I  went 
to  her  standing  by  Craig's  side  as  he  played  for  her. 
*Ask  them  to  sing,' she  entreated;  'I  cannot  bear 
it' 

'Mrs.  Mavor  wishes  you  to  sing  in  the  refrain,'  I 
said,  and  at  once  the  men  sat  up  and  cleared  their 


Love  is  Not  All  257 

throats.  The  singing  was  not  good,  but  at  the  first 
sound  of  the  hoarse  notes  of  the  men  Craig's  head 
went  down  over  the  organ,  for  he  was  thinking  I 
suppose  of  the  days  before  them  when  they  would 
long  in  vain  for  that  thrilling  voice  that  soared  high 
over  their  own  hoarse  tones.  And  after  the  voices 
died  away  he  kept  on  playing  till,  half  turning  to- 
ward him,  she  sang  alone  once  more  the  refrain  in 
a  voice  low  and  sweet  and  tender,  as  if  for  him 
alone.  And  so  he  took  it,  for  he  smiled  up  at  her 
his  old  smile  full  of  courage  and  full  of  love. 

Then  for  one  whole  hour  she  stood  saying  good- 
bye to  those  rough,  gentle-hearted  men  whose  in- 
spiration to  goodness  she  had  been  for  five  years. 
It  was  very  wonderful  and  very  quiet.  It  was  un- 
derstood that  there  was  to  be  no  nonsense,  and  Abe 
had  been  heard  to  declare  that  he  would  'throw  out 
any  cotton-backed  fool  who  couldn't  hold  himself 
down,'  and  further,  he  had  enjoined  them  to  re- 
member that  'her  arm  wasn't  a  pump-handle.' 

At  last  they  were  all  gone,  all  but  her  guard  of 
honour — Shaw,  Vernon  Winton,  Geordie,  Nixon, 
Abe,  Nelson,  Craig,  and  myself. 

This  was  the  real  farewell;  for,  though  in  the 
early  light  of  the  next  morning  two  hundred  men 
stood  silent  about  the  stage,  and  then  as  it  moved 


258  Black  Rock 

out  waved  their  hats  and  yelled  madly,  this  was  the 
last  touch  they  had  of  her  hand.  Her  place  was  up 
on  the  driver's  seat  between  Abe  and  Mr.  Craig, 
who  held  little  Marjorie  on  his  knee.  The  rest  of 
the  guard  of  honour  were  to  follow  with  Graeme's 
team.  It  was  Winton's  fine  sense  that  kept  Graeme 
from  following  them  close.  '  Let  her  go  out  alone,' 
he  said,  and  so  we  held  back  and  watched  her  go. 

She  stood  with  her  back  toward  Abe's  plunging 
four-horse  team,  and  steadying  herself  with  one 
hand  on  Abe's  shoulder,  gazed  down  upon  us.  Her 
head  was  bare,  her  lips  parted  in  a  smile,  her  eyes 
glowing  with  their  own  deep  light;  and  so,  facing 
us,  erect  and  smiling,  she  drove  away,  waving  us 
farewell  till  Abe  swung  his  team  into  the  canyon 
road  and  we  saw  her  no  more.  A  sigh  shuddered 
through  the  crowd,  and,  with  a  sob  in  his  voice, 
Winton  said:  '  God  help  us  all.' 

1  close  my  eyes  and  see  it  all  again.  The  waving 
crowd  of  dark-faced  men,  the  plunging  horses,  and, 
high  up  beside  the  driver,  the  swaying,  smiling, 
waving  figure,  and  about  all  the  mountains,  framing 
the  picture  with  their  dark  sides  and  white  peaks 
tipped  with  the  gold  of  the  rising  sun.  It  is  a 
picture  I  love  to  look  upon,  albeit  it  calls  up  an- 
other that  I  can  never  see  but  through  tears. 


Love  is  Not  All  259 

I  look  across  a  strip  of  ever-widening  water,  ai  a 
group  of  men  upon  the  wiiarf,  standing  with  heads 
uncovered,  every  man  a  hero,  though  not  a  man  of 
them  suspects  it,  least  of  all  the  man  who  stands  in 
front,  strong,  resolute,  self-conquered.  And,  gaz- 
ing long,  I  think  1  see  him  turn  again  to  his  place 
among  the  men  of  the  mountains,  not  forgetting, 
but  every  day  remembering  the  great  love  that  came 
to  him,  and  remembering,  too,  that  love  is  not  all. 
It  is  then  the  tears  come. 

But  for  that  picture  two  of  us  at  least  are  better 
men  to  day. 


How  Nelson  Came  Home 


CHAPTER  Xin 

HOW  NELSON   CAME  HOME 

Through  the  long  summer  the  mountains  and  the 
pines  were  with  me.  And  through  the  winter,  too, 
busy  as  I  was  filling  in  my  Black  Rock  sketches  for 
the  railway  people  who  would  still  persist  in  order- 
ing them  by  the  dozen,  the  memory  of  that  stirring 
life  would  come  over  me,  and  once  more  I  would  be 
among  the  silent  pines  and  the  mighty  snow-peaked 
mountains.  And  before  me  would  appear  the  red- 
shirted  shantymen  or  dark-faced  miners,  great,  free, 
bold  fellows,  driving  me  almost  mad  with  the  desire 
to  seize  and  fix  those  swiftly  changing  groups  of 
picturesque  figures.  At  such  times  I  would  drop  my 
sketch,  and  with  eager  brush  seize  a  group,  a  face,  a 
figure,  and  that  is  how  my  studio  comes  to  be  filled 
with  the  men  of  Black  Rock.  There  they  are  all 
about  me.  Graeme  and  the  men  from  the  woods, 
Sandy,  Baptiste,  the  Campbells,  and  in  many  atti- 
tudes and  groups  old  man  Nelson ;  Craig,  too,  and 
his  miners,  Shaw,  Geordie,  Nixon,  and  poor  old  Billy 

and  the  keeper  of  the  League  saloon. 
363 


264  Black  Rock 

It  seemed  as  if  I  lived  among  tliem,  and  the  illu- 
sion was  greatly  lielped  by  the  vivid  letters  Graeme 
sent  me  from  time  to  time.  Brief  notes  came  now 
and  then  from  Craig  too,  to  whom  1  had  sent  a 
faithful  account  of  how  I  had  brought  Mrs.  Mavor 
to  her  ship,  and  of  how  I  had  watched  her  sail  away 
with  none  too  brave  a  face,  as  she  held  up  her  hand 
that  bore  the  miners'  ring,  and  smiled  with  that  deep 
light  in  her  eyes.  Ah!  those  eyes  have  driven  me 
to  despair  and  made  me  fear  that  I  am  no  great 
painter  after  all,  in  spite  of  what  my  friends  tell  me 
who  come  in  to  smoke  my  good  cigars  and  praise  my 
brush.  I  can  get  the  brow  and  hair,  and  mouth  and 
pose,  but  the  eyes!  the  eyes  elude  me — and  the 
faces  of  Mrs.  Mavor  on  my  wall,  that  the  men  praise 
and  rave  over,  are  not  such  as  I  could  show  to  any 
of  the  men  from  the  mountains. 

Graeme's  letters  tell  me  chiefly  about  Craig  and 
his  doings,  and  about  old  man  Nelson ;  while  from 
Craig  I  hear  about  Graeme,  and  how  he  and  Nelson 
are  standing  at  his  back,  and  doing  what  they  can 
to  fill  the  gap  that  never  can  be  filled.  The  three 
are  much  together,  I  can  see,  and  I  am  glad  for 
them  all,  but  chiefly  for  Craig,  whose  face,  grief- 
stricken  but  resolute,  and  often  gentle  as  a  woman's, 
will  not  leave  me  nor  let  me  rest  in  peace. 


How  Nelson  Came  Home  265 

The  note  of  thanks  he  sent  me  was  entirely 
characteristic.  There  were  no  heroics,  much  less 
pining  or  self-pity.  It  was  simple  and  manly,  not 
ignoring  the  pain  but  making  much  of  the  joy. 
And  then  they  had  their  work  to  do.  That  note,  so 
clear,  so  manly,  so  nobly  sensible,  stiffens  my  back 
yet  at  times. 

In  the  spring  came  the  startling  news  that  Black 
Rock  would  soon  be  no  more.  The  mines  were  to 
close  down  on  April  i.  The  company,  having 
allured  the  confiding  public  with  enticing  descrip- 
tions of  marvellous  drifts,  veins,  assays,  and  pros- 
pects, and  having  expended  vast  sums  of  the  pub- 
lic's money  in  developing  the  mines  till  the 
assurance  of  their  reliability  was  absolutely  final, 
calmly  shut  down  and  vanished.  With  their 
vanishing  vanishes  Black  Rock,  not  without  loss 
and  much  deep  cursing  on  the  part  of  the  men 
brought  some  hundreds  of  miles  to  aid  the  com- 
pany in  its  extraordinary  and  wholly  inexplicable 
game. 

Personally  it  grieved  me  to  think  that  my  plan  oi 
returning  to  Black  Rock  could  never  be  carried  out. 
It  was  a  great  compensation,  however,  that  the  three 
men  most  representative  to  me  of  that  life  were 
soon  to  visit  me  actually  in  my  own  home  and 


266  Black.  Rock 

den.  Graeme's  letter  said  that  in  one  month 
they  might  be  expected  to  appear.  At  least  he 
and  Nelson  were  soon  to  come,  and  Craig  would 
soon  follow. 

On  receiving  the  great  news,  I  at  once  looked  up 
young  Nelson  and  his  sister,  and  we  proceeded  to 
celebrate  the  joyful  prospect  with  a  specially  good 
dinner.  I  found  the  greatest  delight  in  picturing 
the  joy  and  pride  of  the  old  man  in  his  children, 
whom  he  had  not  seen  for  fifteen  or  sixteen  years. 
The  mother  had  died  some  five  years  before,  then 
the  farm  was  sold,  and  the  brother  and  sister  came 
into  the  city;  and  any  father  might  be  proud  of 
them.  The  son  was  a  well-made  young  fellow, 
handsome  enough,  thoughtful,  and  solid-looking. 
The  girl  reminded  me  of  her  father.  The  same 
resolution  v/as  seen  in  mouth  and  jaw,  and  the  same 
passion  slumbered  in  the  dark  grey  eyes.  She  was 
not  beautiful,  but  she  carried  herself  well,  and  one 
would  always  look  at  her  twice.  It  would  be  worth 
something  to  see  the  meeting  between  father  and 
daughter. 

But  fate,  the  greatest  artist  of  us  all,  takes  little 
count  of  the  careful  drawing  and  the  bright  colour- 
ing of  our  fancy's  pictures,  but  with  rude  hand 
deranges  all,  and  with  one  swift  sweep  paints  out 


How  Nelson  Came  Home  267 

the  bright  and  paints  m  the  dark.  And  this  trick 
he  served  me  when,  one  June  night,  after  long  and 
anxious  waiting  for  some  word  from  the  west,  my 
door  suddenly  opened  and  Graeme  walked  in  upon 
me  like  a  spectre,  grey  and  voiceless.  My  shout  of 
welcome  was  choked  back  by  the  look  in  his  face, 
and  I  could  only  gaze  at  him  and  wait  for  his  word. 
He  gripped  my  hand,  tried  to  speak,  but  failed  to 
make  words  come. 

'  Sit  down,  old  man,'  I  said,  pushing  him  into  my 
chair,  '  and  take  your  time.' 

He  obeyed,  looking  up  at  me  with  burning, 
sleepless  eyes.  My  heart  was  sore  for  his  misery, 
and  I  said:  'Don't  mind,  old  chap;  it  can't  be 
so  awfully  bad.  You're  here  safe  and  sound 
at  any  rate,'  and  so  I  went  on  to  give  him 
time.  But  he  shuddered  and  looked  round  and 
groaned. 

'  Now  look  here,  Graeme,  let's  have  it.  When  did 
you  land  here?  Where  is  Nelson?  Why  didn't 
you  bring  him  up  ? ' 

'He  is  at  the  station  in  his  coffin,"  he  answered 
slowly. 

'  In  his  coffin  ? '  1  echoed,  my  beautiful  pictures 
all  vanishing.     '  How  was  it  ? ' 

'Through  my  cursed  folly,'  he  groaned  bitterly. 


268  Black  Rock 

'What  happened?'  1  asked.  But  ignoring  my 
question,  he  said:  '  I  must  see  his  children.  I  have 
not  slept  for  four  nights.  I  hardly  know  what  1  am 
doing ;  but  I  can't  rest  till  1  see  his  children.  I  prom- 
ised him.     Get  them  for  me.' 

'  To-morrow  will  do.  Go  to  sleep  now,  and  we 
shall  arrange  everything  to-morrow,'  1  urged. 

*  No  I'  he  said  fiercely;  'to-night — now!' 

In  half  an  hour  they  were  listening,  pale  and 
grief-stricken,  to  the  story  of  their  father's  death. 

Poor  Graeme  was  relentless  in  his  self-condem- 
nation as  he  told  how,  through  his  *  cursed  folly/ 
old  Nelson  was  killed.  The  three,  Craig,  Graeme, 
and  Nelson,  had  come  as  far  as  Victoria  together. 
There  they  left  Craig,  and  came  on  to  San  Fran- 
cisco. In  an  evil  hour  Graeme  met  a  companion  of 
other  and  evil  days,  and  it  was  not  long  till  the  old 
fever  came  upon  him. 

In  vain  Nelson  warned  and  pleaded.  The  re- 
action from  the  monotony  and  poverty  of  camp 
life  to  the  excitement  and  luxury  of  the  San  Fran- 
cisco gaming  palaces  swung  Graeme  quite  off  his 
feet,  and  all  that  Nelson  could  do  was  to  follow 
from  place  to  place  and  keep  watch. 

'  And  there  he  would  sit,'  said  Graeme  in  a  hard, 
bitter  voice,  'waiting  and  watching  often  till  the 


How  Nelson  Came  Home  269 

grey  morning  light,  while  my  madness  held  me  fast 
to  the  table.  One  night,'  here  he  paused  a  moment, 
put  his  face  in  his  hands  and  shuddered ;  but  quickly 
he  was  master  of  himself  again,  and  went  on  in  the 
same  hard  voice — *  One  night  my  partner  and  I  were 
playing  two  men  who  had  done  us  up  before.  I 
knew  they  were  cheating,  but  could  not  detect  them. 
Game  after  game  they  won,  till  I  was  furious  at  my 
stupidity  in  not  being  able  to  catch  them.  Happen- 
ing to  glance  at  Nelson  in  the  corner,  I  caught  a 
meaning  look,  and  looking  again,  he  threw  me  a 
signal.  1  knew  at  once  what  the  fraud  was,  and 
next  game  charged  the  fellow  with  it.  He  gave  me 
the  lie;  I  struck  his  mouth,  but  before  I  could  draw 
my  gun,  his  partner  had  me  by  the  arms.  What 
followed  I  hardly  know.  While  I  was  struggling 
to  get  free,  I  saw  him  reach  for  his  weapon ;  but, 
as  he  drew  it.  Nelson  sprang  across  the  table,  and 
bore  him  down.  When  the  row  was  over,  three 
men  lay  on  the  floor.  One  was  Nelson;  he  took 
the  shot  meant  for  me.' 

Again  the  story  paused. 

'And  the  man  that  shot  him  ?' 

I  started  at  the  intense  fierceness  in  the  voice, 
and,  looking  upon  the  girl,  saw  her  eyes  blazing 
with  a  terrible  light. 


ayo  Black  Rock 

'  He  is  dead,'  answered  Graeme  indifferently. 

'  You  killed  him  ? '  slie  asked  eagerly. 

Graeme  looked  at  her  curiously,  and  answered 
slowly  — 

'  1  did  not  mean  to.  He  came  at  me.  I  struck 
him  harder  than  I  knew.     He  never  moved.' 

She  drew  a  sigh  of  satisfaction,  and  waited. 

'  I  got  him  to  a  private  ward,  had  the  best  doctor 
in  the  city,  and  sent  for  Craig  to  Victoria.  For 
three  days  we  thought  he  would  live — he  was  keen 
to  get  home;  but  by  the  time  Craig  came  we. had 
given  up  hope.  Oh,  but  I  was  thankful  to  see 
Craig  come  in,  and  the  joy  in  the  old  man's  eyes 
was  beautiful  to  see.  There  was  no  pain  at  last, 
and  no  fear.  He  would  not  allow  me  to  reproach 
myself,  saying  over  and  over,  "You  would  have 
done  the  same  for  me  " — as  I  would,  fast  enough — 
"and  it  is  better  me  than  you.  I  am  old  and  done; 
you  will  do  much  good  yet  for  the  boys."  And 
he  kept  looking  at  me  till  I  could  only  promise  to  do 
my  best. 

'But  I  am  glad  I  told  him  how  much  good  he 
had  done  me  during  the  last  year,  for  he  seemed  to 
think  that  too  good  to  be  true.  And  when  Craig 
told  him  how  he  had  helped  the  boys  in  the  camp, 
and  how  Sandy  and  Baptiste  and  the  Campbells 


How  Nelson  Came  Home  271 

would  always  be  better  men  for  his  life  among 
them,  the  old  man's  face  actually  shone,  as  if  light 
were  coming  through.  And  with  surprise  and  joy 
he  kept  on  saying,  "Do  you  think  so?  Do  you 
think  so  ?  Perhaps  so,  perhaps  so."  At  the  last  he 
talked  of  Christmas  night  at  the  camp.  You  were 
there,  you  remember.  Craig  had  been  holding  a 
service,  and  something  happened,  I  don't  know 
what,  but  they  both  knew.' 

*I  know,'  I  said,  and  I  saw  again  the  picture  of 
the  old  man  under  the  pine,  upon  his  knees  in  the 
snow,  with  his  face  turned  up  to  the  stars. 

*  Whatever  it  was,  it  was  in  his  mind  at  the  very 
last,  and  I  can  never  forget  his  face  as  he  turned  it 
to  Craig.  One  hears  of  such  things:  I  had  often, 
but  had  never  put  much  faith  in  them;  but  joy, 
rapture,  triumph,  these  are  what  were  in  his  face, 
as  he  said,  his  breath  coming  short,  "  You  said — He 
wouldn't — fail  me — you  were  right — not  once — not 
once — He  stuck  to  me — I'm  glad  he  told  me — thank 
God — for  you — ^you  showed — me — I'll  see  Him— 
and — tell  Him — '  And  Craig,  kneeling  beside  him  so 
steady — I  was  behaving  like  a  fool — smiled  down 
through  his  streaming  tears  into  the  dim  eyes  so 
brightly,  till  they  could  see  no  more.  Thank  him 
tor  that!    He  helped  the  old  man  through,  and  he 


272  Black  Rock 

iielped    me    too,   that    night,   thank  GodI'    And 
Graeme's  voice,  hard  till  now,  broke  in  a  sob. 

He  had  forgotten  us,  and  was  back  beside  his 
passing  friend,  and  all  his  self-control  could  not 
keep  back  the  flowing  tears. 

*  It  was  his  life  for  mine,'  he  said  huskily. 

The  brother  and  sister  were  quietly  weeping,  but 
spoke  no  word,  though  I  knew  Graeme  was  wait- 
ing for  them. 

I  took  up  the  word,  and  told  of  what  I  had 
known  of  Nelson,  and  his  influence  upon  the  men 
of  Black  Rock.  They  listened  eagerly  enough,  but 
still  without  speaking.  There  seemed  nothing  to 
say,  till  1  suggested  to  Graeme  that  he  must  get 
some  rest.  Then  the  girl  turned  to  him,  and,'  im- 
pulsively putting  out  her  hand,  said  — 

'Oh,  it  is  all  so  sad;  but  how  can  we  ever  thank 
you?' 

*  Thank  me  I '  gasped  Graeme.  *  Can  you  forgive 
me  ?    I  brought  him  to  his  death.' 

*No,  nol  You  must  not  say  so,'  she  answered 
hurriedly.  'You  would  have  done  the  same  for 
him.' 

'  God  knows  I  would,'  said  Graeme  earnestly;  'and 
God  bless  you  for  your  words! '  And*I  was  thank- 
ful to  see  the  tears  start  in  his  dry,  burning  eyes. 


How  Nelson  Came  Home  173 

We  carried  him  to  the  old  home  in  the  country, 
that  he  might  lie  by  the  side  of  the  wife  he  had 
loved  and  wronged.  A  few  friends  met  us  at  the 
wayside  station,  and  followed  in  sad  procession 
along  the  country  road,  that  wound  past  farms  and 
through  woods,  and  at  last  up  to  the  ascent  where 
the  quaint,  old  wooden  church,  black  with  the  rains 
and  snows  of  many  years,  stood  among  its  silent 
graves.  The  little  graveyard  sloped  gently  toward 
the  setting  sun,  and  from  it  one  could  see,  far  on 
every  side,  the  fields  of  grain  and  meadowland  that 
wandered  off  over  softly  undulating  hills  to  meet 
the  maple  woods  at  the  horizon,  dark,  green,  and 
cool.  Here  and  there  white  farmhouses,  with  great 
bams  standing  near,  looked  out  from  clustering 
orchards. 

Up  the  grass-grown  walk,  and  through  the 
crowding  mounds,  over  which  waves,  uncut,  the 
long,  tangling  grass,  we  bear  our  friend,  and  let 
him  gently  down  into  the  kindly  bosom  of  mother 
earth,  dark,  moist,  and  warm.  The  sound  of  a 
distant  cowbell  mingles  with  the  voice  of  the  last 
prayer;  the  clods  drop  heavily  with  heart-startling 
echo;  the  mound  is  heaped  and  shaped  by  kindly 
friends,  sharing  with  one  another  the  task;  the  long 
rough  sods  are  laid  over  and  patted  into  place ;  the 


»74  Black  Rock 

old  minister  takes  farewell  in  a  few  words  of  gentle 
sympathy;  the  brother  and  sister,  with  lingering 
looks  at  the  two  graves  side  by  side,  the  old  and  the 
new,  step  into  the  farmer's  carriage,  and  drive 
away;  the  sexton  locks  the  gate  and  goes  home, 
and  we  are  left  outside  alone. 

Then  we  went  back  and  stood  by  Nelson'^*  grave. 

After  a  long  silence  Graeme  spoke. 

*  Connor,  he  did  not  grudge  his  life  to  me — and  I 
think ' — and  here  the  words  came  slowly — '  1  under- 
stand now  what  that  means,  ' '  Who  loved  me  and 
gave  Himself  for  me.'" 

Then  taking  off  his  hat,  he  said  reverently,  'By 
God's  help  Nelson's  life  shall  not  end,  but  shall  go 
on.  Yes,  old  man! '  looking  down  Mpon  the  grave, 
*  I'm  with  you; '  and  lifting  up  his  face  to  the  calm 
sky,  '  God  help  me  to  be  true  ' 

Then  he  turned  and  walked  briskly  away,  as  one 
might  who  had  pressing  business,  or  as  soldiers 
march  from  a  comrade's  grave  to  a  merry  tune,  not 
that  they  have  forgotten,  but  they  have  still  to  fight. 

And  this  was  the  way  old  man  Nelson  came 
home. 


Graeme's  New  Birth 


«75 


CHAPTER  XIV 

GRAEME'S  NEW  BIRTH 

There  was  more  left  in  that  grave  than  old  man 
Nelson's  dead  body.  It  seemed  to  me  that  Graeme 
left  part,  at  least,  of  his  old  self  there,  with  his  dead 
friend  and  comrade,  in  the  quiet  country  church- 
yard. I  waited  long  for  the  old  careless,  reckless 
spirit  to  appear,  but  he  was  never  the  same  again. 
The  change  was  unmistakable,  but  hard  to  define. 
He  seemed  to  have  resolved  his  life  into  a  definite 
purpose.  He  was  hardly  so  comfortable  a  fellowto 
be  with ;  he  made  me  feel  even  more  lazy  and  use- 
less than  was  my  wont;  but  I  respected  him  more, 
and  liked  him  none  the  less.  As  a  lion  he  was  not 
a  success.  He  would  not  roar.  This  was  disap- 
pointing to  me,  and  to  his  friends  and  mine,  who 
had  been  waiting  his  return  with  eager  expectation 
of  tales  of  thrilling  and  bloodthirsty  adventure. 

His  first  days  were  spent  in  making  right,  or  as 
nearly  right  as  he  could,  the  break  that  drove  him  to 
the  west.  His  old  firm  (and  I  have  had  more  re- 
spect for  the  humanity  of  lawyers  ever  since)  be- 
377 


278  Black  Rock 

haved  really  well.  They  proved  the  restoration  of 
their  confidence  in  his  integrity  and  ability  by  offer- 
ing him  a  place  in  the  firm,  which,  however,  he 
would  not  accept.  Then,  when  he  felt  clean,  as  he 
said,  he  posted  off  home,  taking  me  with  him. 
During  the  railway  journey  of  four  hours  he  hardly 
spoke ;  but  when  we  had  left  the  town  behind,  and 
had  fairly  got  upon  the  country  road  that  led  toward 
the  home  ten  miles  away,  his  speech  came  to  him  in 
a  great  flow.  His  spirits  ran  over.  He  was  like  a 
boy  returning  from  his  first  college  term.  His  very 
face  wore  the  boy's  open,  innocent,  earliest  look 
that  used  to  attract  men  to  him  in  his  first  college 
year.  His  delight  in  the  fields  and  woods,  in  the 
sweet  country  air  and  the  sunlight,  was  without 
bound.  How  often  had  we  driven  this  road  to- 
gether in  the  old  days  I 

Every  turn  was  familiar.  The  swamp  where  the 
tamaracks  stood  straight  and  slim  out  of  their  beds 
of  moss;  the  brule,  as  we  used  to  call  it,  where  the 
pine-stumps,  huge  and  blackened,  were  half-hidden 
by  the  new  growth  of  poplars  and  soft  maples ;  the 
big  hill,  where  we  used  to  get  out  and  walk  when 
the  roads  were  bad ;  the  orchards,  where  the  harvest 
apples  were  best  and  most  accessible — all  had  their 
memories. 


Graeme's  New  Birth  279 

It  was  one  of  those  perfect  afternoons  that  so 
often  come  in  the  early  Canadian  summer,  before 
Nature  grows  weary  with  the  heat.  The  white 
gravel  road  was  trimmed  on  either  side  with  turf  of 
living  green,  close  cropped  by  the  sheep  that  wan- 
dered in  flocks  along  its  whole  length.  Beyond  the 
picturesque  snake-fences  stretched  the  fields  of 
springing  grain,  of  varying  shades  of  green,  with 
here  and  there  a  dark  brown  patch,  marking  a  tur- 
nip field  or  summer  fallow,  and  far  back  were  the 
woods  of  maple  and  beech  and  elm,  with  here  and 
there  the  tufted  top  of  a  mighty  pine,  the  lonely 
representative  of  a  vanished  race,  standing  clear 
above  the  humbler  trees. 

As  we  drove  through  the  big  swamp,  where  the 
yawning,  haunted  gully  plunges  down  to  its 
gloomy  depths,  Graeme  reminded  me  of  that  night 
when  our  horse  saw  something  in  that  same  gully, 
and  refused  to  go  past;  and  1  felt  again,  though  it 
was  broad  daylight,  something  of  the  grue  that 
shivered  down  my  back,  as  I  saw  in  the  moonlight 
the  gleam  of  a  white  thing  far  through  the  pine 
trunks. 

As  we  came  nearer  home  the  houses  became  fa- 
miliar. Every  house  had  its  tale :  we  had  eaten  or 
slept  in  most  of  them;  we  had  sampled  apples,  and 


28o  Black  Rock 

cherries,  and  plums  from  their  orchards,  openly  as 
guests,  or  secretly  as  marauders,  under  cover  of 
night — the  more  delightful  way,  I  fear.  Ah !  happy 
days,  with  these  innocent  crimes  and  fleeting  re- 
morses, how  bravely  we  faced  them,  and  how  gaily 
we  lived  them,  and  how  yearningl)i  we  look  back 
at  them  now!  The  sun  was  just  dipping  into  the 
tree-tops  of  the  distant  woods  behind  as  we  came 
to  the  top  of  the  last  hill  that  overlooked  the  valley, 
in  which  lay  the  village  of  Riverdale.  Wooded 
hills  stood  about  it  on  three  sides,  and,  where  the 
hills  faded  out,  there  lay  the  mill-pond  sleeping  and 
smiling  in  the  sun.  Through  the  village  ran  the 
white  road,  up  past  the  old  frame  church,  and  on  to 
the  white  manse  standing  among  the  trees.  That 
was  Graeme's  home,  and  mine  too,  for  I  had  never 
known  another  worthy  of  the  name.  We  held  up 
our  team  to  look  down  over  the  valley,  with  its 
rampart  of  wooded  hills,  its  shining  pond,  and  its 
nestling  village,  and  on  past  to  the  church  and  the 
white  manse,  hiding  among  the  trees.  The  beauty, 
the  peace,  the  warm,  loving  homeliness  of  the  scene 
came  about  our  hearts,  but,  being  men,  we  could 
find  no  words. 

*  Let's  go, '  cried  Graeme,  and  down  the  hill  we 
tore  and  rocked  and  swayed  to  the  amazement  of 


Graeme's  New  Birth  281 

the  steady  team,  -whose  education  from  the  earliest 
years  had  impressed  upon  their  minds  the  crimi- 
nality of  attempting  to  do  anything  but  walk  care- 
fully down  a  hill,  at  least  for  two-thirds  of  the  way. 
Through  the  village,  in  a  cloud  of  dust,  we  swept, 
catching  a  glimpse  of  a  well-known  face  here  and 
there,  and  flinging  a  salutation  as  we  passed,  leav- 
ing the  owner  of  the  face  rooted  to  his  place  in  as- 
tonishment at  the  sight  of  Graeme  whirling  on  in 
his  old-time,  well-known  reckless  manner.  Only 
old  Dune.  M'Leod  was  equal  to  the  moment,  for  as 
Graeme  called  out,  '  Hello,  Dune. ! '  the  old  man 
lifted  up  his  hands,  and  called  back  in  an  awed 
voice :  *  Bless  my  soul !  is  it  yourself  ? ' 

'Stands  his  whisky  well,  poor  old  chap!'  was 
Graeme's  comment. 

As  we  neared  the  church  he  pulled  up  his  team, 
and  we  went  quietly  past  the  sleepers  there,  then 
again  on  the  full  run  down  the  gentle  slope,  over 
the  little  brook,  and  up  to  the  gate.  He  had  hardly 
got  his  team  pulled  up  before,  flinging  me  the  lines, 
he  was  out  over  the  wheel,  for  coming  down  the 
walk,  with  her  hands  lifted  high,  was  a  dainty  little 
lady,  with  the  face  of  an  angel.  In  a  moment 
Graeme  had  her  in  his  arms.  I  heard  the  faint  cry, 
'My  boy,  my  boy,'  and  got  down  on  the  other  side 


282  Black  Rock 

to  attend  to  my  off  horse,  surprised  to  find  my 
hands  trembling  and  my  eyes  full  of  tears.  Back 
upon  the  steps  stood  an  old  gentleman,  with  white 
hair  and  flowing  beard,  handsome,  straight,  and 
stately — Graeme's  father,  waiting  his  turn. 

'Welcome  home,  my  lad,'  was  his  greeting,  as 
he  kissed  his  son,  and  the  tremor  of  his  voice,  and 
the  sight  of  the  two  men  kissing  each  other,  like 
women,  sent  me  again  to  my  horses'  heads. 

'There's  Connor,  mother! '  shouted  out  Graeme, 
and  the  dainty  little  lady,  in  her  black  silk  and  white 
lace,  came  out  to  me  quickly,  with  outstretched 
hands. 

'You,  too,  are  welcome  home,'  she  said^  and 
kissed  me. 

I  stood  with  my  hat  off,  saying  something  about 
being  glad  to  come,  but  wishing  that  I  could  get 
away  before  I  should  make  quite  a  fool  of  myself. 
For  as  I  looked  down  upon  that  beautiful  face,  pale, 
except  for  a  faint  flush  upon  each  faded  cheek,  and 
read  the  story  of  pain  endured  and  conquered,  and 
as  I  thought  of  all  the  long  years  of  waiting  and 
of  vain  hoping,  I  found  my  throat  dry  and  sore, 
and  the  words  would  not  come.  But  her  quick 
sense  needed  no  words,  and  she  came  to  my 
help. 


Graeme's  New  Birth  283 

*  You  will  find  Jack  at  the  stable,'  she  said  smil- 
ing; '  he  ought  to  have  been  here.' 

The  stable!  Why  had  I  not  thought  of  that  be- 
fore ?    Thankfully  now  my  words  came  — 

'Yes,  certainly,  I'll  find  him,  Mrs.  Graeme.  I 
suppose  he's  as  much  of  a  scapegrace  as  ever,'  and 
off  I  went  to  look  up  Graeme's  young  brother,  who 
had  given  every  promise  in  the  old  days  of  develop- 
ing into  as  stirring  a  rascal  as  one  could  desire;  but 
who,  as  I  found  out  later,  had  not  lived  these  years 
in  his  mother's  home  for  nothing. 

'Oh,  Jack's  a  good  boy,'  she  answered,  smiling 
again,  as  she  turned  toward  the  other  two,  now 
waiting  for  her  upon  the  walk. 

The  week  that  followed  was  a  happy  one  for  us 
all;  but  for  the  mother  it  was  full  to  the  brim  with 
joy.  Her  sweet  face  was  full  of  content,  and  in  her 
eyes  rested  a  great  peace.  Our  days  were  spent 
driving  about  among  the  hills,  or  strolling  through 
the  maple  woods,  or  down  into  the  tamarack 
swamp,  where  the  pitcher  plants  and  the  swamp 
lilies  and  the  marigold  waved  above  the  deep  moss. 
In  the  evenings  we  sat  under  the  trees  on  the  lawn 
till  the  stars  came  out  and  the  night  dews  drove  us 
in.  Like  two  lovers,  Graeme  and  his  mother  would 
wander  off  together,  leaving:  jack  and  me  to  each 


284  Black  Rock 

other.  Jack  was  reading  for  divinity,  and  was 
really  a  fine,  manly  fellow,  with  all  his  brother's  turn 
for  rugby,  and  1  took  to  him  amazingly ;  but  after 
the  day  was  over  we  would  gather  about  the  sup- 
per-table, and  the  talk  would  be  of  all  things  under 
heaven — art,  football,  theology.  The  mother  would 
lead  in  all.  How  quick  she  was,  how  bright  her 
fancy,  how  subtle  her  intellect,  and  through  all  a 
gentle  grace,  very  winning  and  beautiful  to  see! 

Do  what  I  would,  Graeme  would  talk  little  of  the 
mountains  and  his  life  there. 

*My  lion  will  not  roar,  Mrs.  Graeme,'  com- 
plained; 'he  simply  will  not.' 

'You  should  twist  his  tail,'  said  Jack. 

'That  seems  to  be  the  difficulty.  Jack,'  said  his 
mother,  'to  get  hold  of  his  tale.' 

' Oh,  mother,'  groaned  Jack;  ♦  you  never  did  such 
a  thing  before!  How  could  you?  Is  it  this  baleful 
Western  influence  ? ' 

'  I  shall  reform.  Jack,'  she  replied  brightly. 

'But,  seriously,  Graeme,'  I  remonstrated,  'you 
ought  to  tell  your  people  of  your  life — that  free, 
glorious  life  in  the  mountains.' 

'Free!  Glorious!  To  some  men,  perhaps !' said 
Graeme,  and  then  fell  into  silence. 

But  I  saw  Graeme  as  a  new  man  the  night  he 


Graeme's  New  Birth  285 

talked  theology  with  his  rather.  The  old  minister 
was  a  splendid  Calvinist,  of  heroic  type,  and  as  he 
discoursed  of  God's  sovereignty  and  election,  his 
face  glowed  and  his  voice  rang  out. 

Graeme  listened  intently,  now  and  then  putting  in 
a  question,  as  one  would  a  keen  knife-thrust  into 
a  foe.  But  the  old  man  knew  his  ground,  and 
moved  easily  among  his  ideas,  demolishing  the 
enemy  as  he  appeared,  with  jaunty  grace.  In  the 
full  flow  of  his  triumphant  argument,  Graeme 
turned  to  him  with  sudden  seriousness. 

'Look  here,  father!  I  was  born  a  Calvinist,  and 
I  can't  see  how  any  one  with  a  level  head  can  hold 
anything  else,  than  that  the  Almighty  has  some  idea 
as  to  how  He  wants  to  run  His  universe,  and  He 
means  to  carry  out  His  idea,  and  is  carrying  it  out; 
but  what  would  you  do  in  a  case  like  this  ? '  Then 
he  told  him  the  story  of  poor  Billy  Breen,  his  fight 
and  his  defeat. 

'  Would  you  preach  election  to  that  chap?* 

The  mother's  eyes  were  shining  with  tears. 

The  old  gentleman  blew  his  nose  like  a  trumpet, 
and  then  said  gravely  — 

'  No,  my  boy,  you  don't  feed  babes  with  meat. 
But  what  came  to  him  ? ' 

Then  Graeme  asked  me  to  finish  the  tale.     After 


286  Black  Rock 

I  had  finished  the  story  ot  Billy's  final  triumph  and 
of  Craig's  part  in  it,  they  sat  long  silent,  till  the 
minister,  clearing  his  throat  hard  and  blowing  his 
nose  more  like  a  trumpet  than  ever,  said  with  great 
emphasis  — 

'Thank  God  for  such  a  man  in  such  a  place!  I 
wish  there  were  more  of  us  like  him.' 

*1  should  like  to  see  you  out  there,  sir,'  said 
Graeme  admiringly;  'you'd  get  them,  but  you 
wouldn't  have  time  for  election.' 

'  Yes,  yes  1 '  said  his  father  warmly ;  '  I  should 
love  to  have  a  chance  just  to  preach  election  to 
these  poor  lads.  Would  I  were  twenty  years 
younger  1 ' 

'It  is  worth  a  man's  life,'  said  Graeme  earnestly. 
His  younger  brother  turned  his  face  eagerly  toward 
the  mother.  For  answer  she  slipped  her  hand  into 
his  and  said  softly,  while  her  eyes  shone  like  stars  -^ 

'Some  day,  Jack,  perhaps!  God  knows.'  But 
Jack  only  looked  steadily  at  her,  smiling  a  little  and 
patting  her  hand. 

'You'd  shine  there,  mother,'  said  Graeme,  smik 
ing  upon  her;  '  you'd  better  come  with  me.'  She 
started,  and  said  faintly  — 

'  With  you?'  It  was  the  first  hint  he  had  given 
of  his  purpose.     '  You  are  going  back  ?' 


Graeme's  New  Birth  287 

'  What!  as  a  missionary  ? '  said  Jack. . 

'Not  to  preach,  Jack;  I'm  not  orthodox  enough,' 
tooking  at  his  father  and  shaking  his  head;  'but  to 
build  railroads  and  lend  a  hand  to  some  poor  chap, 
if  I  can.' 

'  Could  you  not  find  work  nearer  home,  my  boy?' 
asked  the  father;  'there  is  plenty  of  both  kinds 
near  us  here,  surely.' 

'Lots  of  work,  but  not  mine,  I  fear,'  answered 
Graeme,  keeping  his  eyes  away  from  his  mother's 
face.     '  A  man  must  do  his  own  work.' 

His  voice  was  quiet  and  resolute,  and  glancing  at 
the  beautiful  face  at  the  end  of  the  table,  I  saw  in 
the  pale  lips  and  yearning  eyes  that  the  mother  was 
offering  up  her  first-born,  that  ancient  sacrifice.  But 
not  all  the  agony  of  sacrifice  could  wring  from  her 
entreaty  or  complaint  in  the  hearing  of  her  sons. 
That  was  for  other  ears  and  for  the  silent  hours  of 
the  night.  And  next  morning  when  she  came 
down  to  meet  us  her  face  was  wan  and  weary,  but 
it  wore  the  peace  of  victory  and  a  glory  not  of 
earth.  Her  greeting  was  full  of  dignity,  sweet 
and  gentle;  but  when  she  came  to  Graeme  she 
lingered  over  him  and  kissed  him  twice.  And 
that  was  all  that  any  of  us  ever  saw  of  that  sore 
fight. 


288  Black  Rock 

At  the  end  of  the  week  I  took  leave  of  them,  and 
last  of  all  of  the  mother. 

She  hesitated  just  a  moment,  then  suddenly  put 
her  hands  upon  my  shoulders  and  kissed  me,  saying 
softly,  'You  are  his  friend;  you  will  sometimes 
come  to  me  ?' 

'  Gladly,  if  I  may,'  I  hastened  to  answer,  for  the 
sweet,  brave  face  was  too  much  to  bear;  and,  till 
she  left  us  for  that  world  of  which  she  was  a  part, 
I  kept  my  word,  to  my  own  great  and  lasting  good. 
-When  Graeme  met  me  in  the  city  at  the  end  of  the 
summer,  he  brought  me  her  love,  and  then  burst 
forth — 

•  Connor,  do  you  know,  I  have  just  discovered 
my  mother!  1  have  never  known  her  till  this  sum- 
mer.' 

'More  fool  you,'  I  answered,  for  often  had  1,  who 
had  never  known  a  mother,  envied  him  his. 

'Yes,  that  is  true,'  he  answered  slowly;  'but you 
cannot  see  until  you  have  eyes.' 

Before  he  set  out  again  for  the  west  I  gave  him  a 
supper,  asking  the  men  who  had  been  with  us  in 
the  old  'Varsity  days.  1  was  doubtful  as  to  the 
wisdom  of  this,  and  was  persuaded  only  by 
Graeme's  eager  assent  to  my  proposal. 
I       Certainly,  let's  have  them,'   he  said;   'I  shall 


Graeme's  New  Birth  iSf 

be   awfully  glad  to  see  them;    great  stuff   they 
were.' 

'  But,  I  don't  know,  Graeme ;  you  see — well — 
hang  it! — you  know — you're  different,  you  know.' 

He  looked  at  me  curiously. 
I  hope  I  can  still  stand  a  good  supper,  and  if  the 
boy's  can't  stand  me,  why,  I  can't  help  it.     I'll  do 
anything  but  roar,  and  don't  you  begin  to  work  off 
your  menagerie  act — now,  you  hear  me! ' 

'  Well,  it  is  rather  hard  lines  that  when  I  have 
been  talking  up  my  lion  for  a  year,  and  then  finally 
secure  him,  that  he  will  not  roar.' 

'Serve  you  right,' he  replied,  quite  heartlessly," 
'but  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do,  I'll  fee«"  Don't 
you  worry,-  he  adds  soothingly;  'the  supper  will 

go- 

And  go  it  did.  The  supper  was  of  the  best;  the 
wines  first-class.  I  had  asked  Graeme  about  the 
wines. 

'  Do  as  you  like,  old  man,'  was  his  answer;  '  it's 
your  supper,  but,'  he  added,  'are  the  men  all 
straight  ? ' 

I  ran  them  over  in  my  mind. 

'Yes;  I  think  so.' 

*  If  not,  don't  you  help  them  down ;  and  anyway, 
you  can't  be  too  careful.     But  don't  mind  me;  I  am 


190  Black  Rock 

quit  of  the  whole  business  from  this  out.'.  So  I 
ventured  wines,  for  the  last  time,  as  it  happened. 

We  were  a  quaint  combination.  Old  'Beetles,' 
whose  nickname  was  prophetic  of  his  future  fame 
as  a  bugman,  as  the  fellows  irreverently  said; 
'  Stumpy '  Smith,  a  demon  bowler ;  Polly  Lindsay, 
slow  as  ever  and  as  sure  as  when  he  held  the  half- 
back line  with  Graeme,  and  used  to  make  my  heart 
stand  still  with  terror  at  his  cool  deliberation.  But 
he  was  never  known  to  fumble  nor  to  funk,  and 
somehow  he  always  got  us  out  safe  enough.  Then 
there  was  Rattray — '  Rat '  for  short — who,  from  a 
swell,  had  developed  into  a  cynic  with  a  sneer, 
awfully  clever  and  a  good  enough  fellow  at  heart. 
Little  *  Wig '  Martin,  the  sharpest  quarter  ever  seen, 
and  big  Barney  Lundy,  centre  scrimmage,  whose 
terrific  roar  and  rush  had  often  struck  terror  to  the 
enemy's  heart,  and  who  was  Graeme's  slave. 
Such  was  the  party. 

As  the  supper  went  on  my  fears  began  to  vanish, 
for  if  Graeme  did  not  'roar,'  he  did  the  next  best 
thing — ate  and  talked  quite  up  to  his  old  form.  Now 
we  played  our  matches  over  again,  bitterly  lament- 
ing the  '  ifs '  that  had  lost  us  the  championships, 
and  wildly  approving  the  tackles  that  had  saved, 
and  the  runs  that  had  made  the  'Varsity  crowd  go 


Graeme's  New  Birth  *9i 

mad  with  delight  and  had  won  for  us.  And  as 
their  names  came  up  in  talk,  we  learned  how  life 
had  gone  with  those  who  had  been  our  comrades 
of  ten  years  ago.  Some,  success  had  lifted  to  high 
places ;  some,  failure  had  left  upon  the  rocks,  and  a 
few  lay  in  their  graves. 

But  as  the  evening  wore  on,  I  began  to  wish  that 
I  had  left  out  the  wines,  for  the  men  began  to  drop 
an  occasional  oath,  though  I  had  let  them  know 
during  the  summer  that  Graeme  was  not  the  man 
he  had  been.  But  Graeme  smoked  and  talked  and 
heeded  not,  till  Rattray  swore  by  that  name  most 
sacred  of  all  ever  borne  by  man.  Then  Graeme 
opened  upon  him  in  a  cool,  slow  way  — 

*  What  an  awful  fool  a  man  is,  to  damn  things  as 
you  do.  Rat  Things  are  not  damned.  It  is  men 
who  are;  and  that  is  too  bad  to  be  talked  much 
about.  But  when  a  man  flings  out  of  his  foul 
mouth  the  name  of  Jesus  Christ ' — here  he  lowered 
his  voice — *  it's  a  shame — it's  more,  it's  a  crime.' 

There  was  dead  silence,  then  Rattray  replied  — 

'1  suppose  you're  right  enough,  it  is  bad  form; 
but  crime  is  rather  strong,  I  think.' 

*Not  if  you  consider  who  it  is,'  said  Graeme  with 
emphasis. 

*0h,  come  now,'  broke  in  Beetles.    'Religion  is 


292  Black  Rock 

all  right,  is  a  good  thing,  and  I  believe  a  necessary 
thing  for  the  race,  but  no  one  takes  seriously  any 
longer  the  Christ  myth.' 

*  What  about  your  mother,  Beetles  ? '  put  in  Wig 
Martin. 

Beetles  consigned  him  to  the  pit  and  was  silent, 
for  his  father  was  an  Episcopal  clergyman,  and  his 
mother  a  saintly  woman. 

'  I  fooled  with  that  for  some  time,  Beetles,  but  it 
won't  do.  You  can't  build  a  religion  that  wil'  take 
the  devil  out  of  a  man  on  a  myth.  That  won't  do 
the  trick.  I  don't  want  to  argue  about  it,  but  I  am 
quite  convinced  the  myth  theory  is  not  reasonable, 
and  besides,  it  won't  work.' 

•Will  the  other  work?  asked  Rattray,  with  a 
sneer. 

'Sure!'  said  Graeme;  'I've  seen  it.' 

'Where?'  challenged  Rattray.  'I  haven't  seen 
much  of  it.' 

'Yes,  you  have,  Rattray,  you  know  you  have,* 
said  Wig  again.     But  Rattray  ignored  him. 

*  I'll  tell  you,  boys,'  said  Graeme.  '  I  want  you 
to  know,  anyway,  why  I  believe  what  1  do.' 

Then  he  told  them  the  story  of  old  man  Nelson, 
from  the  old  coast  days,  before  1  knew  him,  to  the 
end.     He  told  the  story  well.    The  stern  fight  and 


Graeme's  New  Birth  293 

the  victory  of  the  life,  and  the  self-sacrifice  and  the 
pathos  of  the  death  appealed  to  these  men,  who 
loved  fight  and  could  understand  sacrifice. 

'  That's  why  I  believe  in  Jesus  Christ,  and  that's 
why  I  think  it  a  crime  to  fling  His  name  about! ' 

*I  wish  to  Heaven  I  could  say  that,'  said  Beetles. 
Keep  wishing  hard  enough  and  it  will  come 
to  you,'  said  Graeme. 

'Look  here,  old  chap,'  said  Rattray;  'you're quite 
right  about  this;  I'm  willing  to  own  up.  Wig  is 
correct.  I  know  a  few,  at  least,  of  that  stamp,  but 
most  of  those  who  go  in  for  that  sort  of  thing  are 
not  much  account.' 

'For  ten  years,  Rattray,'  said  Graeme  in  a  down- 
right, matter-of-fact  way,  'you  and  I  have  tried 
this  sort  of  thing ' — tapping  a  bottle — '  and  we  got 
out  of  it  all  there  is  to  be  got,  paid  well  for  it, 
too,  and — faugh!  you  know  it's  not  good  enough, 
and  the  more  you  go  in  for  it,  the  more  you  curse 
yourself.  So  I  have  quit  this  and  I  am  going  in  for 
the  other.' 

'What!  going  in  for  preaching?' 

*  Not  much — railroading — money  in  it — and  lend- 
ing a  hand  to  fellows  on  the  rocks.' 

'  I  say,  don't  you  want  a  centre  forward  ? '  said 
big  Barney  in  his  deep  voice. 


294  Black  Rock 

'  Every  man  must  play  his  game  in  his  place,  old 
chap.  I'd  like  to  see  you  tackle  it,  though,  right 
well,'  said  Graeme  earnestly.  And  so  he  did,  in  the 
after  years,  and  good  tackling  it  was.  But  that  is 
another  story. 

'But,  I  say,  Graeme,'  persisted  Beetles,  'about 
this  business,  do  you  mean  to  say  you  go  the 
whole  thing— Jonah,  you  know,  and  the  rest 
of  it?' 

Graeme  hesitated,  then  said — 

*I  haven't  much  of  a  creed.  Beetles;  don't  really 
know  how  much  I  believe.  But,'  by  this  time  he 
was  standing,  '  I  do  know  that  good  is  good,  and 
bad  is  bad,  and  good  and  bad  are  not  the  same. 
And  I  know  a  man's  a  fool  to  follow  the  one, 
and  a  wise  man  to  follow  the  other,  and,'  lower- 
ing his  voice,  *  I  believe  God  is  at  the  back  of  a 
man  who  wants  to  get  done  with  bad.  I've  tried 
all  that  folly,'  sweeping  his  hand  over  the  glasses 
and  bottles,  '  and  all  that  goes  with  it,  and  I've  done 
with  it.' 

'I'll  go  you  that  far,'  roared  big  Barney,  following 
his  old  captain  as  of  yore. 

'Good  man,'  said  Graeme,  striking  hands  with 
him. 

'  Put  me  down,'  said  little  Wig  cheerfully. 


Graeme's  New  Birth  295 

Then  I  took  up  the  word,  for  there  rose  before 
me  the  scene  in  the  League  saloon,  and  I  saw 
the  beautiful  face  with  the  deep  shining  eyes,  and 
I  was  speaking  for  her  again.  1  told  them  of 
Craig  and  his  fight  for  these  men's  lives.  1  told 
them,  too,  of  how  I  had  been  too  indolent  to 
begin.  But,'  I  said.  'I  am  going  this  far  from 
to-night, '  and  I  swept  the  bottles  into  the  cham- 
pagne tub. 

•I  say,'  said  Polly  Lindsay  coming  up  in  nis 
old  style,  slow  but  sure,  'let's  all  go  in,  say  for 
five  y^ars.'  And  so  we  did.  We  didn't  sign  any- 
thing, but  every  man  shook  hands  with  Graeme. 

And  as  I  told  Craig  about  this  a  year  later,  when 
he  was  on  his  way  back  from  his  Old  Land  trip  to 
join  Graeme  in  the  mountains,  he  threw  up  his 
head  in  the  old  way  and  said,  'It  was  well  done. 
It  must  have  been  worth  seeing.  Old  man  Nelson's 
work  is  not  done  yet.  Tell  me  again,'  and  he 
made  me  go  over  the  whole  scene  with  all  the  de- 
tails put  in. 

But  when  I  told  Mrs.  Mavor,  after  two  years  had 
gone,  she  only  said,  *  Old  things  are  passed  away, 
all  things  are  become  new; '  but  the  light  glowed  in 
her  eyes  till  I  could  not  see  their  colour.  But  all 
that,  too,  is  another  story. 


With  the  Shield  or  on  It 


CHAPTER  XV 

WITH  THE  SHIELD  OR  ON  FT 

Our  best  deeds  we  often  do  unconsciously.  Certain 
it  is  that  nothing  was  further  from  my  mind  than  push- 
ing my  friend's  cause  with  the  great  man  of  the  Railway 
Company  for  which  1  flourished  my  brush.  But  it  is 
equally  certain  that  as  1  turned  over  my  sketches  of 
scenes  from  camp  life  with  the  lumbermen  and  miners, 
I  found  myself  talking  with  full  enthusiasm  of  the  two 
men  who  filled  my  imagination  as  the  greatest  of  all 
men  1  had  yet  met.  The  railway  man  fcept  me  talking 
of  Graeme  for  as  'hour  and  then  said :  *  Bring  your 
friend  to  see  me  to-morrow,'  which  I  did  to  the  mutual 
and  lasting  advantage  of  them  both.  For  when  Graeme 
came  back  to  me  after  his  interview  with  the  great  man 
he  greeted  me  with  a  thumping  whack  and  demanded 
to  know  with  what  yams  1  had  been  regaling  his 
chief's  ears. 

'  Chief }  *  I  asked  in  delighted  surprise. 

'So!  But  how  did  you  do  it.?*  he  replied.  'With 
what  material  did  you  pack  him } ' 

'Pack  him.?  not  at  all.    1  simply  gave  him  a  few 
yarns  and  showed  him  some  sketches.* 
299 


300  Black  Rock 

'Yarns  and  sketches!  Oh,  I  know  you  and  your 
tricks  and  your  ways,'  he  answered,  shaking  his  head 
at  me.  *  All  the  same,  old  man,  I  owe  it  to  you  that  I 
sign  myself  Confidential  Secretary  to  the  Superintendent 
of  .Construction  with  almost  unlimited  powers.' 

*  Good  man ! '  1  shouted,  *  when  you  are  President 
I'll  take  an  annual  pass  if  you  don't  mind.' 

*  You  can  get  a  pass  out  now  if  you  want  to  come.' 

*  Not  yet.    But  when  do  you  go  ?  * 
'  Next  week/ 

*  Next  week ! '  I  cried  in  dismay,  thinking  of  the 
sweet,  pale  face  of  the  beautiful  little  lady  in  the  manse 
in  the  country. 

'  Yes ! '  he  s^id  a  little  sadly,  *  i  Know  what  you  are 
thinking  of.  Seems  seifish,  but  I  n  afraid  1  must  go. 
My  particular  chief  is  out  there  now,  over  the  ears  in 
work  and  he  must  have  help  at  once.' 

*  It's  a  long  way,'  I  said. 

'  Yes,'  he  answered,  *  a  long  way  and  a  big  work  it 
will  be.  They  say  it  is  a  five  years'  job.'  He  paused, 
and  then  added,  as  if  to  himself,  *  and  the  mother  is 
not  very  strong  any  time.' 

'  Do  you  think  you  really  ought  to  go .? '  I  asked. 
'  You  banish  yourself,  you  know,  from  civilisation  and 
decent  society  and  your — ^your  people  have  not  seen 
much  of  you  for  the  last  ten  years— and — and  life  is 
going  on,  you  know.' 


With  the  Shield  or  on  It  301 

I  could  not  force  myselt  to  speak  out  brutally  any 
fear  that  when  he  said  farewell  to  the  sweet -faced  little 
lady  he  still  loved  better  than  all  else  in  the  world  it 
would  be  to  see  her  face  no  more.  He  read  me  quickly 
enough. 

*  Don't,  old  chap,'  he  said,  with  a  shake  in  his 
voice.  *  I  know  what  you  mean,  and  I  have  gone  over 
all  that,  but  my  work  is  out  there  and  I  must  not 
shirk  it.    She  will  say  go  you'll  see.' 

And  so  she  did.  After  a  week  of  hard  work  getting 
his  outfit  together  and  learning  something  of  his  duties 
as  Confidential  Secretary  to  the  Superintendent  of 
Construction,  Graeme  carried  me  off  with  him  to  his 
home  to  say  goodbye.  He  had  written  fully  of  his 
plans,  so  that  when  his  mother  greeted  him  at  the  little 
garden  gate,  I  saw  by  the  way  she  held  her  arms  about 
him,  looking  long  into  his  face,  that  no  word  of  entreaty 
would  be  spoken  by  her  and  that  she  had  given  him  up. 

Those  three  last  days  were  days  of  tender  sacrament. 
Graeme  talked  fully  of  all  his  plans  and  his  hopes  in 
regard  to  the  work  he  meant  to  do  for  the  men  in  the 
mountains. 

*  Poor  chaps,'  he  would  say,  *  they  mostly  go  down 
for  lack  of  a  hand  to  steady  them  at  a  critical  time  or 
to  give  them  a  lift  when  they  have  stumbled.  And 
they  have  most  of  them  mothers  at  home  and  some  of 
them  wives.' 


302  Black  Rock 

And  the  mother  would  smile  at  him  with  a  light  of 
divine  compassion  in  her  eyes,  feeling  at  such  moments 
that  for  such  work  it  were  easy  to  have  her  son  go 
from  her.  They  had  long  wallcs  together  through  the 
woods,  and  would  come  back  laden  with  spoils,  mosses 
and  grasses  and  ferns,  and  they  were  happy  with  each 
other  as  a  boy  and  girl  in  their  first  love.  How  1 
envied  him  and  how  I  pitied  him.  Such  a  love  is 
earth's  greatest  treasure,  the  loss  oi  it  earth's  greatest 
loss.  But  the  hours  of  the  three  days  fled  with  winged 
feet,  as  do  all  happy  hours,  and  we  came  to  that  hour 
of  sweet  agony  we  shrink  from  most  and  yet  would 
not  miss. 

Long  before  the  sun  we  had  all  been  astir,  for  we 
had  to  catch  an  early  train.  Breakfast  by  lamplight  is 
always  a  ghastly  affair.  The  food  is  nauseating,  the 
conversation  drags  wearily,  the  whole  atmosphere  is 
depressing. 

Graeme  was  making  a  great  effort  to  adopt  a  matter- 
of-fact  tone  with  a  little  tinge  of  sharpness  in  it  except 
when  he  spoke  to  his  mother.  The  father  came  down 
half  dressed,  as  we  were  rising  from  an  almost  untasted 
meal,  to  have,  according  to  his  invariable  custom,  a 
word  of  prayer.  It  was  always  an  ideal,  that  prayer 
of  his. 

A  man  must  give  up  pretenses  when  he  undertakes 
to  address  the  Almighty.    There  is  no  place  in  prayci 


With  the  Shield  or  on  It  303 

for  simulated  cheerfulness  and  courage,  and  as  the  old 
man  prayed  the  barriers  were  borne  down  by  the  rush 
of  feeling  hitherto  held  in  check  by  force  of  will.  The 
brave  little  mother  broke  down  into  quiet  weeping  while 
the  father  commended  *  the  member  of  the  family  de- 
parting from  his  home  this  day  to  the  care  and  keeping 
of  the  great  Father  from  whom  distance  cannot  separate 
and  to  whom  no  land  is  strange.'  Graeme,  too,  I  could 
see  was  losing  his  grip  of  himself,  but  the  prayer  rose 
into  a  great  strain  of  thanksgiving  for  *  the  love  that 
reached  down  from  Heaven  to  save  a  world  of  lost  men, 
and  for  the  noble  company  who  were  giving  their  lives 
to  bring  this  love  near  to  men's  hearts.'  Then  we  all 
grew  quiet,  and  under  the  steadying  of  that  prayer  the 
farewells  were  easier. 

*  Goodbye,  Leslie,  my  son.  God  be  with  you  and 
keep  you  and  make  you  a  blessing  to  many,'  said  the 
old  gentleman.  His  voice  was  grave  and  steady,  but  he 
immediately  turned  aside  and  blew  his  nose  like  a 
trumpet,  remarking  upon  the  chilly  morning  air.  The 
mother's  farewell  was  without  a  word.  She  reached  up 
and  put  her  arms  about  her  son's  neck,  kissed  him  twice 
and  then  let  him  go. 

But  while  the  trunks  were  being  got  on  to  the  waggon, 
she  came  and  stood  outside  the  gate,  looking  up  at  us 
with  a  face  so  white  and  wan,  but  with  a  smile  so  brave, 
so  trembling,  so  pitiful,  that  I  did  not  wonder  that 


S04  Black  Rock 

Graeme  suddenly  sprang  down  from  the  seat  and  ran  tc 
her. 

'Oh,  mother!  mother!*  he  cried,  in  a  choking  voice, 
gathering  her  to  him, '  I  can't  do  it,  I  can't  do  it.' 

*Oh,  yes  we  can,  my  boy,*  she  answered,  smiling 
while  her  tears  flowed  down  her  pale  cheeks.  *  For  His 
lake  we  can.' 

And  while  we  drove  up  the  hill  the  smile  never 
faded  from  the  face  that  seemed  alight  with  a  glory 
not  of  the  rising  sun. 


Coming  to  Their  Own 


305 


CHAPTER  XVI 

COMING  TO  THEIR  OWN 

A  MAN  with  a  conscience  is  often  provoking, 
sometimes  impossible.  Persuasion  is  lost  upon 
him.  He  will  not  get  angry,  and  he  looks  at  one 
with  such  a  far-away  expression  in  his  face  that  in 
striving  to  persuade  him  one  feels  earthly  and  eve» 
fiendish.  At  least  this  was  my  experience  with 
Craig.  He  spent  a  week  with  me  just  before  he 
sailed  for  the  Old  Land,  for  the  purpose,  as  he  said, 
of  getting  some  of  the  coal  dust  and  other  grime  out 
of  him. 

He  made  me  angry  the  last  night  of  his  stay,  and 
all  the  more  that  he  remained  quite  sweetly  un- 
moved. It  was  a  strategic  mistake  of  mine  to  tell 
him  how  Nelson  came  home  to  us,  and  how  Graeme 
stood  up  before  the  'Varsity  chaps  at  my  supper 
and  made  his  confession  and  confused  Rattray's 
easy-stepping  profanity,  and  started  his  own  five- 
year  league.  For  all  this  stirred  in  Craig  the  hero, 
and  he  was  ready  for  all  sorts  of  heroic  nonsense, 

as  I  called  it.    We  talked  of  everything  but  the 

307 


3o8  Black  Rock 

one  thing,  and  about  that  we  said  not  a  word  till, 
bending  low  to  poi^e  my  fire  and  to  hide  my  face,  I 
plunged  — 

*  You  will  see  her,  of  course  ?' 

He  made  no  pretence  of  not  understanding,  but 
answered  — 

'Of  course.' 

'There's  really  no  sense  in  her  staying  over  there,' 
I  suggested. 

'And  yet  she  is  a  wise  woman,'  he  said,  as  if 
carefully  considering  the  question. 

'  Heaps  of  landlords  never  see  their  tenants,  and 
they  are  none  the  worse.' 

'The  landlords?' 

'No,  the  tenants.* 

'  Probably,  having  such  landlords.* 

'  And  as  for  the  old  lady,  there  must  be  some  one 
in  the  connection  to  whom  it  would  be  a  Godsend 
to  care  for  her.' 

'Now,  Connor,'  he  said  quietly,  'don't.  We 
have  gone  over  all  there  is  to  be  said.  Nothing 
new  has  come.     Don't  turn  it  all  up  again.' 

Then  I  played  the  heathen  and  raged,  as  Graeme 
would  have  said,  till  Craig  smiled  a  little  wearily  and 
said  — 

'You  exhaust  yourself,  old  chap.     Have  a  pipe. 


Coming  to  Their  Own  30$ 

do ; '  and  after  a  pause  he  added  in  his  own  way, 
'Wiiat  would  you  have?  The  path  lies  straigiit 
from  my  feet.  Should  I  quit  it?  I  could  not  so 
disappoint  you — and  all  of  them.' 

And  1  knew  he  was  thinking  of  Graeme  and  the 
lads  in  the  mountains  he  had  taught  to  be  true  men. 
It  did  not  help  my  rage,  but  it  checked  my  speech; 
so  I  smoked  in  silence  till  he  was  moved  to  say  — 

'And  after  all,  you  know,  old  chap,  there  are 
great  compensations  for  all  losses ;  but  for  the  loss 
of  a  good  conscience  toward  God,  what  can  make 
up?' 

But,  all  the  same,  I  hoped  for  some  better  re- 
sult from  his  visit  to  Britain.  It  seemed  to  me  that 
something  must  turn  up  to  change  such  an  unbear- 
able situation. 

The  year  passed,  however,  and  when  I  looked 
into  Craig's  face  again  I  knew  that  nothing  had 
been  changed,  and  that  he  had  come  back  to  take 
up  again  his  life  alone,  more  resolutely  hopeful 
than  ever. 

But  the  year  had  left  its  mark  upon  him  too. 
He  was  a  broader  and  deeper  man^  He  had  been 
living  and  thinking  with  men  of  larger  ideas  and 
richer  culture,  and  he  was  far  too  quick  in  sym- 
pathy with  life  to  remain  untouched  by  his  sur- 


3IO  Black  Rock 

Foundings.  He  was  more  tolerant  of  opinions  other 
than  his  own,  but  more  unrelenting  in  his  fidelity 
to  conscience  and  more  impatient  of  half-hearted- 
ness  and  self-indulgence.  He  was  full  of  reverence 
for  the  great  scholars  and  the  great  leaders  of  men 
he  had  come  to  know. 

'Great,  noble  fellows  they  are,  and  extraordi- 
narily modest,'  he  said — 'that  is,  the  really  great  are 
modest.  Thare  are  plenty  of  the  other  sort,  neither 
great  nor  modest.  And  the  books  to  be  read!  1 
am  quite  hopeless  about  my  reading.  It  gave  me 
a  queer  sensation  to  shake  hands  with  a  man  who 
had  written  a  great  book.  To  hear  him  make  com- 
monplace remarks,  to  witness  a  faltering  in  knowl- 
edge— one  expects  these  men  to  know  everything — 
and  to  experience  respectful  kindness  at  his  hands  I ' 

'  What  of  the  younger  men  ? '  I  asked. 

'  Bright,  keen,  generous  fellows.  In  things  theo- 
retical, omniscient;  but  in  things  practical,  quite 
helpless.  They  toss  about  great  ideas  as  the  miners 
lumps  of  coal.  They  can  call  thern  by  their  book 
names  easily  enough,  but  I  often  wondered  whether 
they  could  put  them  into  English.  Some  of  them  I 
coveted  for  the  mountains.  Men  with  clear  heads 
and  big  hearts,  and  built  after  Sandy  M'Naughton's 
model.     It  does  seem  a  sinful  waste  of  God's  good 


Coming  to  Their  Own  311 

human  stuff  to  see  these  fellows  potter  away  their 
lives  among  theories  living  and  dead,  and  end  up 
by  producing  a  book!  They  are  all  either  making 
or  going  to  make  a  book.  A  good  thing  we  haven't 
to  read  them.  But  here  and  there  among  them  is 
some  quiet  chap  who  will  make  a  book  that  men 
will  tumble  over  each  Other  to  read.' 

Then  we  paused  and  looked  at  each  other. 

'  Well  ? '  I  said.     He  understood  me. 

'Yesl'  he  answered  slowly,  'doing  great  work. 
Every  one  worships  her  just  as  we  do,  and  she  is 
making  them  all  do  something  worth  while,  as  she 
used  to  make  us.* 

He  spoke  cheerfully  and  readily  as  if  he  were 
repeating  a  lesson  well  learned,  but  he  could  not 
humbug  me.  I  felt  the  heartache  in  the  cheerful 
tone. 

'Tell  me  about  her,'  I  said,  for  I  knew  that  if  he 
would  talk  it  would  do  him  good.  And  talk  he 
did,  often  forgetting  me,  till,  as  I  listened,  I  found 
myself  looking  again  into  the  fathomless  eyes,  and 
hearing  again  the  heart-searching  voice,  i  saw  her 
go  in  and  out  of  the  little  red-tiled  cottages  and 
down  the  narrow  back  lanes  of  the  village;  I  heard 
her  voice  in  a  sweet,  low  song  by  the  bed  of  a 
dying  child,  or  pouring  forth  floods  of  music  in  the 


312  Blact  Rock 

great  new  hall  of  the  factory  town  near  by.  But  I 
could  not  see,  though  he  tried  to  show  me,  the 
stately  gracious  lady  receiving  the  country  folk  in 
her  home.  He  did  not  linger  over  that  scene, 
but  went  back  again  to  the  gate-cottage  where 
she  had  taken  him  one  day  to  see  Billy  Breen's 
mother. 

'I  found  the  old  woman  knew  all  about  me,'  he 
said,  simply  enough;  'but  there  were  many  things 
about  Billy  she  had  never  heard,  and  I  was  glad  to 
put  her  right  on  some  points,  though  Mrs.  Mavor 
would  not  hear  it.' 

He  sat  silent  for  a  little,  looking  into  the  coals; 
then  went  on  in  a  soft,  quiet  voice  — 

'  It  brought  back  the  mountains  and  the  old  days 
to  hear  again  Billy's  tones  in  his  mother's  voice,  and 
to  see  her  sitting  there  in  the  very  dress  she  wore 
the  night  of  the  League,  you  remember — some  soft 
stuff  with  black  lace  about  it — and  to  hear  her  sing 
as  she  did  for  Billy — ah !  ah ! '  His  voice  unex- 
pectedly broke,  but  in  a  moment  he  was  master  of 
himself  and  begged  me  to  forgive  his  weakness. 
'  I  am  afraid  I  said  words  that  should  not  be  said 
— a  thing  I  never  do,  except  when  suddenly  and 
utterly  upset. 

'1  am  getting  selfish  and  weak,'  he  said;  *I  must 


Coming  to  Their  Own  313 

get  to  work.  I  am  glad  to  get  to  work.  There  is 
much  to  do,  and  it  is  worth  while,  if  only  to  keep 
one  from  getting  useless  and  lazy.' 

'Useless  and  lazy!'  1  said  to  myself,  thinking  of 
my  life  beside  his,  and  trying  to  get  command  of 
my  voice,  so  as  not  to  make  quite  a  fool  of  myself. 
And  for  many  a  day  those  words  goaded  me  to 
work  and  to  the  exercise  of  some  mild  self-denial. 
But  more  than  all  else,  after  Craig  had  gone  back  to 
the  mountains,  Graeme's  letters  from  the  railway 
construction  camp  stirred'one  to  do  unpleasant  duty 
long  postponed,  and  rendered  uncomfortable  my 
hours  of  most  luxurious  ease.  Many  of  the  old  gang 
were  with  him,  both  of  lumbermen  and  miners,  and 
Craig  was  their  minister.  And  the  letters  told  of 
how  he  laboured  by  day  and  by  night  along  the  line 
of  construction,  carrying  his  tent  and  kit  with  him, 
preaching  straight  sermons,  watching  by  sick  men, 
writing  their  letters,  and  winning  their  hearts,  mak- 
ing strong  their  lives,  and  helping  them  to  die  well 
when  their  hour  came.  One  day  these  letters 
proved  too  much  for  me,  and  I  packed  away  my 
paints  and  brushes,  and  made  my  vow  unto  the 
Lord  that  I  would  be  'useless  and  lazy'  no  longer, 
but  would  do  something  with  myself.  In  conse- 
quence, I  found  myself  within  three  weeks  walking 


314  Black  Rock 

the  London  hospitals,  linishing  my  course,  tliat  f 
might  join  that  band  of  men  who  were  doing  some- 
thing with  life,  or,  if  throwing  it  away,  were  not 
losing  it  for  nothing.  I  had  finished  being  a  fool,  I 
hoped,  at  least  a  fool  of  the  useless  and  luxurious 
kind.  The  letter  that  came  from  Graeme,  in  reply 
to  my  request  for  a  position  on  his  staff,  was 
characteristic  of  the  man,  both  new  and  old,  full  of 
gayest  humour  and  of  most  earnest  welcome  to  th'' 
work. 
Mrs.  Mayor's  reply  was  like  herself  — 

*  I  knew  you  would  not  long  be  content  with  the 
making  of  pictures,  which  the  world  does  not 
really  need,  and  would  join  your  friends  in  the 
dear  West,  making  lives  that  the  world  needs  so 
sorely.' 

But  her  last  words  touched  me  strangely  — 

*  But  be  sure  to  be  thankful  every  day  for  your 
privilege.  ...  It  will  be  good  to  think  of  you 
all,  with  the  glorious  mountains  about  you,  and 
Christ's  own  work  in  your  hands.  .  .  ,  Ahl 
how  we  would  like  to  choose  our  work,  and  the 
place  in  which  to  do  it  I' 

The  longing  did  not  appear  in  the  words,  but  I 
needed  no  words  to  tell  me  how  deep  and  how 
constant  it  was.    And  I  take  some  credit  to  myself. 


Coming  to  Their  Own  315 

that  in  my  reply  I  gave  her  no  bidding  to  join  our 
band,  but  rather  praised  the  work  she  was  doing  in 
her  place,  telling  her  how  I  had  heard  of  it  from 
Craig. 

The  summer  found  me  religiously  doing  Paris 
and  Vienna,  gaining  a  more  perfect  acquaintance 
with  the  extent  and  variety  of  my  own  ignorance, 
and  so  fully  occupied  in  this  interesting  and  whole- 
some occupation  that  I  fell  out  with  all  my  cor- 
respondents, with  the  result  of  weeks  of  silence 
between  us. 

Two  letters  among  the  heap  waiting  on  my  table 
in  London  made  my  heart  beat  quick,  but  with  how 
diflferent  feelings :  one  from  Graeme  telling  me  that 
Craig  had  been  very  ill,  and  that  he  was  to  take  him 
home  as  soon  as  he  could  be  moved.  Mrs.  Mayor's 
letter  told  me  of  the  death  of  the  old  lady,  who  had 
been  her  care  for  the  past  two  years,  and  of  her  in- 
tention to  spend  some  months  in  her  old  home  in 
Edinburgh.  And  this  letter  it  is  that  accounts  for 
my  presence  in  a  miserable,  dingy,  dirty  little  hall 
running  off  a  close  in  the  historic  Cowgate,  redolent 
of  the  glories  of  the  splendid  past,  and  of  the 
various  odours  of  the  evil-smelling  present.  I  was 
there  to  hear  Mrs.  Mavor  sing  to  the  crowd  of 
gamins  that  thronged  the  closes  in  the  neighbour- 


3i6  Black  Rock 

hood,  and  that  had  been  gathered  into  a  club  by  '  a 
fine  leddie  frae  the  West  End,'  for  the  love  of 
Christ  and  His  lost.  This  was  an  *  At  Home ' 
night,  and  the  mothers  and  fathers,  sisters  and 
brothers,  of  all  ages  and  sizes  were  present.  Of  all 
the  sad  faces  1  had  ever  seen,  those  mothers  carried 
the  saddest  and  most  woe-stricken.  '  Heaven  pity 
usl'  I  found  myself  saying;  '  is  this  the  beautiful, 
the  cultured,  the  heaven-exalted  city  of  Edinburgh  ? 
Will  it  not,  for  this,  be  cast  down  into  hell  some 
day,  if  it  repent  not  of  its  closes  and  their  dens  of 
defilement?  Ohl  the  utter  weariness,  the  dazed 
hopelessness  of  the  ghastly  faces!  Do  not  the 
kindly,  gentle  church-going  folk  of  the  crescents 
and  the  gardens  see  them  in  their  dreams,  or  are 
their  dreams  too  heavenly  for  these  ghastly  faces  to 
appear  ?  * 

1  cannot  recall  the  programme  of  the  evening,  but 
in  my  memory-gallery  is  a  vivid  picture  of  that  face, 
sweet,  sad,  beautiful,  alight  with  the  deep  glow  of 
her  eyes,  as  she  stood  and  sang  to  that  dingy 
crowd.  As  I  sat  upon  the  Window-ledge  listening 
to  the  voice  with  its  flowing  song,  my  thoughts 
were  far  away,  and  I  was  looking  down  once  more 
upon  the  eager,  coal-grimed  faces  in  the  rude  little 
church  in  Black  Rock.     I  was  brought  back  to  find 


Coming  to  Their  Own  317 

myself  swallowing  hard  by  an  audible  whisper 
from  a  wee  lassie  to  her  mother  — 
'Mither!  See  till  yon  man.  He's  greetin'.' 
When  I  came  to  myself  she  was  singing  'The 
Land  o'  the  Leal,'  the  Scotch  'Jerusalem  the 
Golden,'  immortal,  perfect.  It  needed  experience 
of  the  hunger-haunted  Cowgate  closes,  chill  with 
the  black  mist  of  an  eastern  haar,  to  feel  the  full 
bliss  of  the  vision  in  the  words  — 

'  There's  nae  sorrow  there,  Jean, 
There's  neither  cauld  nor  care,  Jean, 
The  day  is  aye  fair  in 
The  Land  o'  the  Leal.' 

A  land  of  fair,  warm  days,  untouched  by  sorrow 
and  care,  would  be  heaven  indeed  to  the  dwellers 
of  the  Cowgate. 

The  rest  of  that  evening  is  hazy  enough  to  me 
now,  till  I  find  myself  opposite  Mrs.  Mavor  at  her 
fire,  reading  Graeme's  letter;  then  all  is  vivid  again. 

I  could  not  keep  the  truth  from  her.  I  knew  it 
would  be  folly  to  try.  So  I  read  straight  on  till  I 
came  to  the  words — 

'He  has  had  mountain  fever,  whatever  that  may 
be,  and  he  will  not  pull  up  again.  If  1  can,  I  shall 
take  him  home  to  my  mother' — when  she  suddenly 
stretched  out  her  hand,  saying,  *Oh,  let  me  read!* 


Black  Rock 

and  I  gave  her  the  letter.  In  a  minute  she  had  read 
it,  and  began  almost  breathlessly  — 

'  Listen !  my  life  is  much  changed.  My  mother- 
in-law  is  gone;  she  needs  me  no  longer.  My  so- 
licitor tells  me,  too,  that  owing  to  unfortunate  in- 
vestments there  is  need  of  money,  so  great  need, 
that  it  is  possible  that  either  the  estates  or  the  works 
must  go.  My  cousin  has  his  all  in  the  works — iron 
works,  you  know.  It  would  be  wrong  to  have  him 
suffer.  I  shall  give  up  the  estates— that  v^s.  hesL' 
She  paused. 

'And  come  with  me,'  1  cried. 

'  When  do  you  sail  ? ' 

'Next  week,'  I  answered  eagerly. 

She  looked  at  me  a  few  moments,  and  into  nag 
eyes  there  came  a  light  soft  and  tender,  as  she 
said  — 

*  I  shall  go  with  you.' 

And  so  she  did;  and  no  old  Roman  in  all  the 
glory  of  a  Triumph  carried  a  prouder  heart  than  I, 
as  I  bore  her  and  her  little  one  from  the  train  to 
Graeme's  carriage,  crying — 

*  I've  got  her.' 

But  his  was  the  better  sense,  for  he  stood  way- 
ing  his  hat  and  shouting  — 

*  He's  all  right,'  at  which  Mrs.  Mavor  grew  white; 


Coming  to  Their  Own  3^9 

but  when  she  shook  hands  with  him,  the  red  was 

in  her  cheek  again. 

'  It  was  the  cable  did  it,'  went  on  Graeme.  '  Con- 
nor's a  great  doctor!  His  first  case  will  make  him 
famous.  Good  prescription — after  mountain  fever 
try  a  cablegram  1 '  And  the  red  grew  deeper  in  the 
beautiful  face  beside  us. 

Never  did  the  country  look  so  lovely.  The 
woods  were  in  their  gayest  autumn  dress;  the 
brown  fields  were  bathed  in  a  purple  haze;  the  air 
was  sweet  and  fresh  with  a  suspicion  of  the  com- 
ing frosts  of  winter.  But  in  spite  of  all  the  road 
seemed  long,  and  it  was  as  if  hours  had  gone  be- 
fore our  eyes  fell  upon  the  white  manse  standing 
among  the  golden  leaves. 

'Let  them  go,'  I  cried,  as  Graeme  paused  to  take 
in  the  view,  and  down  the  sloping  dusty  road  we 
flew  on  the  dead  run. 

'Reminds  one  a  little  of  Abe's  curves,'  said 
Graeme,  as  we  drew  up  at  the  gate.  But  I  an- 
swered him  not,  for  I  was  introducing  to  each  other 
the  two  best  women  in  the  world.  As  I  was  about 
to  rush  into  the  house,  Graeme  seized  me  by  the 
collar,  saying — 

*  Hold  on,  Connor !  you  forget  year  place,  you're 
next.* 


320  Black  Rock 

'Why,  certainly,'  I  cried,  thankfully  enough; 
"  what  an  ass  I  am ' ' 

'Quite  true,'  said  Graeme  solemnly. 

'  Where  is  he  ? '  I  asked. 

'  At  this  present  moment  ? '  he  asked,  in  a  shocked 
voice.     '  Why,  Connor,  you  surprise  me.' 

'Oh,  I  see!' 

'Yes,'  he  went  on  gravely;  'you  may  trust  my 
mother  to  be  discreetly  attending  to  her  domestic 
duties;  she  is  a  great  woman,  my  mother.' 

I  had  no  doubt  of  it,  for  at  that  moment  she  came 
out  to  us  with  little  Marjorie  in  her  arms. 

'You  have  shown  Mrs.  Mavor  to  her  room, 
mother,  I  hope,'  said  Graeme;  but  she  only  smiled 
and  said  — 

'  Run  away  with  your  horses,  you  silly  boy,'  at 
which  he  solemnly  shook  his  head.  '  Ah,  mother, 
you  are  deep — who  would  have  thought  it  of  you  ? ' 

That  evening  the  manse  overflowed  with  joy,  and 
the  days  that  followed  were  like  dreams  set  to 
sweet  music. 

But  for  sheer  wild  delight,  nothing  in  my  memory 
can  quite  come  up  to  the  demonstration  organised 
by  Graeme,  with  assistance  from  Nixon,  Shaw, 
Sandy,  Abe,  Geordie,  and  Baptiste,  m  honour  of  the 
irrival  in  camp  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Craig.    And,  in  my 


Coming  to  Their  Own  321 

opinion,  it  added  sometning  to  the  occasion,  that 
after  all  the  cheers  for  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Craig  had  died 
away,  and  after  all  the  hats  had  come  down,  Bap- 
tiste,  who  had  never  taken  his  eyes  from  that 
radiant  face,  should  suddenly  have  swept  the 
crowd  into  a  perfect  storm  of  cheers  by  excitedly 
seizing  his  tuque,  and  calling  out  in  his  shriJI 
voice  — 
*  By  gar!  Tree  cheer  for  Mrs.  Mavon* 
And  for  many  a  day  the  men  of  Black  Rock 
would  easily  fall  into  the  old  and  well-loved  name; 
but  up  and  down  the  line  of  construction,  in  all  the 
camps  beyond  the  Great  Divide,  the  new  name  be- 
came as  dear  as  the  old  had  ever  been  in  Black 
Rock. 

Those  old  wild  days  are  long  since  gone  into  the 
dim  distance  of  the  past.  They  will  not  come 
again,  for  we  have  fallen  into  quiet  times;  but  often 
in  my  quietest  hours  I  feel  my  heart  pause  in  its 
beat  to  hear  again  that  strong,  clear  voice,  like  the 
sound  of  a  trumpet,  bidding  us  to  be  men;  and  1 
think  of  them  all — Graeme,  their  chief,  Sandy, 
Baptiste,  Geordie,  Abe,  the  Campbells,  Nixon, 
Shaw,  all  stronger,  better  for  their  knowing  of  him, 
and  then  I  think  of  Billy  asleep  under  the  pines,  and 
of  old  man  Nelson  with  the  long  grass  waving  over 


322  Black  Rock 

him  in  the  quiet  churchyard,  and  all  my  nonsense 
leaves  me,  and  I  bless  the  Lord  for  all  His  benefits, 
but  chiefly  for  the  day  I  met  the  missionary  of  Black 
Rock  in  the  lumber-camp  among  the  Selkirks. 


THE  END 


A     000  784  711     4 


